


Hole in One

by pletzel, readfah_cwen



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Friendship, Hate Sex, Humor, M/M, Minor Sebklaine, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pletzel/pseuds/pletzel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/readfah_cwen/pseuds/readfah_cwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College. A time for self-exploration, and the exploration of others. Learning new things, and unlearning others. It’s meant to be the best time of your life, and Kurt Hummel is excited for the chance to experience it. The only stumbling blocks to his dreams of a perfect first year? His roommate, the obnoxious and not-at-all-attractive Sebastian Smythe. And golf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hole in One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MotherGoddamn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherGoddamn/gifts).



> This fic is an AU from the beginning of Season 3 -- Kurt never attended NYADA, and also never crossed paths with Sebastian at Dalton. Kurt and Blaine broke up amicably before season three. All other canon friendships and relationships remain intact.

\-----

“Oh, how adorable!”

Kurt felt a toothsome grin emerge at the sound of his roommate’s voice. He dropped his satchel on the floor, and was just about to extend his hand with a flourish when his roommate continued speaking.

“I thought my father was going to _adopt_ me a penguin, not send one.”

Sighing, Kurt bit down on his lower lip and shut the door of his dorm. It was fine. He’d deflected more then enough _baby-faced penguin_ jokes in his short lifetime. He _should_ be able to craft a careful response. Well-timed, funny without being _too_ mean, and with just enough of a modicum of truth to perhaps even make the perpetrator reconsider his or her verbal bullying.

“Shut up,” Kurt said. The barbs flew out of his brain when he got a look at more than his roommate’s side-profile. Kurt was aware that his eyes were a little puffy, still; his cheeks shimmering from tears rather than glitter, but his roommate just smirked, meerkat-like. Kurt paused, tracing the seam of his pants. That smirk told Kurt this one needed rougher treatment. “Are you projecting? You _do_ seem to have a face not even a father could love.”

“Projection? Seems to me _you_ have daddy issues to go with that twink face. Were you crying about being _aww awone_?”

A _very_ quick rejoinder.

Kurt straightened, extracting a handkerchief from his pocket and dashing at his tears. He _really_ shouldn’t escalate this. “It’s the first time we’ve been away from home; I’m sure you can understand why things are a little... emotional.”

His roommate’s face was blanker then a Comms Study major’s timetable. “Hardly,” he replied, his mouth barely moving. “I’ve boarded at private school.”

“Hm. I’ve been to private school, too,” Kurt replied. There was just something about his roommate: the coiff of his hair, and the way his hands formed a perfect arch as he placed them on his hips just _oozed_ villain from every over-large pore. Not escalating? Might be difficult. “As a matter of fact, I helped their show choir win Sectionals. And, I won Nationals with _ours_.”

“Very impressive. Madonna? Celine Dion?”

“Meatloaf, actually,” Kurt said, sweeping his hands out. “A daring rendition of ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” he stated, with his stereotype-breaking nod.

“Hm, yes. I remember that one.”

“You attend _show choir_ competitions?” Kurt stated, feeling the air rush into his mouth.

The roommate smirked, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. “Your lead vocals went to the small, big-nosed Jew and big, small-brained boyfriend, didn’t they?” He extended his hand again, and then shook his head before placing it back on his hip. “Sebastian Smythe. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but it really isn’t.”

Kurt walked over to the side of the room which wasn’t full of Sebastian’s personal belongings. “Hm,” he said as he appraised his surroundings. The Balinese wood privacy partition wouldn’t quite work with the beige walls, but it _was_ still in his dad’s car.

“My name is Sebastian Smythe,” the roommate repeated. Slowly, and carefully. As though Sebastian were ordering himself like a particularly delectable cocktail.

He wasn’t. The only Aristocrat that came to Kurt’s mind was the cheap vodka that Puck had procured after their Nationals win.

“I realized that, Se-bas-tian,” Kurt said. Enough of this. “But I don’t care about you, your name, or your bad case of the rat face.” He shrugged one shoulder. “So let’s spare ourselves the horror of having to look at, or talk to, each other, and maybe nobody will end up smothered to death with goosedown.”

“Me-ow.” Sebastian grinned. “You do know only girls kill people with pillows, right?”

“So? Doesn’t make you any less dead.”

“Is that a threat-- uh ...?”

“Kurt Hummel. And no. It’s just,” Kurt sniffed back a tear, determined not to let any emotion but rage show through. “Friendly conversation. Now if you don’t mind, I have to unpack.”

Sebastian didn’t reply, taking a seat at his computer. Kurt exhaled, counted to ten, then surveyed the mountain range of suitcases and bags that had accompanied him. Much of what he’d brought were the foundations of what he hoped would be a stylish Freshman wardrobe, though there were also framed pictures, decorative scarves, bath supplies, condoms (not funny, Sam and Blaine) and things he honestly couldn’t remember tagging with a blue label and placing in his _to pack_ pile.

Kurt put away the miscellaneous items before facing his clothing stack, while Sebastian continued to putter around his laptop. The spin of iTunes loading caught Kurt’s eye. Hm. Perhaps they’d have something in common? Kurt did pride himself on his eclectic taste. Instead, the opening chords of the one song Kurt would rather tear his hair out than listen to in this particular situation emerged from the (admittedly rather nice) Bose speakers.

_So no-one told you life was gonna be this way...._

And Sebastian was adding hand gestures, and he was -- oh _god_ \-- sitting on _Kurt’s_ bed. His bed with the ivory and maroon damask sheets which quite possibly cost more than Sebastian’s private school education, and were certainly worth more than everything in Sebastian’s wardrobe combined.

Humming a choice selection from _Wicked_ under his breath, Kurt continued to organize his closet by cut, color, and pattern (as capricious as Kurt could be, there was no excuse for plaid being next to stripes) and then the syrupy music segued into Demi Lovato’s “The Gift of a Friend”, and then “Count on Me” by Bruno Mars, and Sebastian was clearly aiming to exasperate and irritate Kurt with every millimeter of his smug, beanpole body.

And, damn him, it was working.

Sebastian snorted into his fist as Kurt’s cell phone rang -- there was nothing wrong with Beyonce ringtones, thank you -- and Kurt tried to tamp down his sigh. He’d agreed to meet his father outside for a picnic lunch. He declined to answer, stalling as his eyes lingered on the framed picture of the Glee club circa May he’d just placed on his desk. He surveyed his side of the dorm for an appropriate place to put it. It only seemed right that it was the first picture to go up.

“Nice picture,” Sebastian said, walking over and whistling through his teeth. He pointed at each of Kurt’s friends in turn. “Ugly Asian, uglier Asian, duck lips, whitebread, _serious_ case of the gay face, wants a boob job, had a boob job, needs a man bra, Jennifer Hudson before TrimSpa, eighth year senior, and Toto _really_ needs to tell Dorothy you aren’t in Kansas anymore.”

“Are you _quite_ finished insulting my friends?”

“Oh, Kurt. I’m just getting _started_.”

“I assure you, your offensiveness isn’t nearly as charming as you think,” Kurt said, grabbing his phone and satchel. “As loathe as I am to cut _such_ a successful meeting short, I told my father I’d join him for lunch.”

“Do you know the problem with first impressions?” Sebastian said, walking back to his laptop and hitting play on something Kurt would never admit to recognizing as Hannah Montana. “You only get to make one.”

“And if I resorted to physical violence, you’d be getting an impre--”

“Your gay face hurts me far more than your fist ever would,” Sebastian smirked again, skipping through Hannah Montana and changing the music to “You’ve Got a Friend in Me”. “Not to mention your voice. I’m pretty sure you’re whining now at a frequency only picked up by dogs.”

“I’m _proud_ of my voice.” Kurt tiptoed up, and puffed out his chest. He thought of Nationals. Of his Cheerios Madonna medley. Of teaching his brother what it meant to really be a man. “I _like_ fashion. I _like_ my friends. I _like_ \--” Kurt swore under his breath and looked down at his shin, which seemed to have connected with something that looked a little like a hockey stick with netting on the end. “I like...”

“Making dignified exits?” Sebastian said. “I don’t care if it’s dignified. Just _exit_. Meanwhile I’ll be crossing my fingers the Skeski take you back to The Castle of the Crystal.”

“The _what_ now?”

“Gelflings.” Sebastian smirked, eyes somehow turning even icier. “Oh, come _on_. I doubt that’s new insult territory.”

Kurt blanched because no, it really wasn’t. He tilted his head up and tried not to slam the door in Sebastian Smythe’s face, although breaking his roommate’s nose would probably be an improvement.

\-----

“So, how’s the roomie workin’ out for ya?” Burt asked, through a mouthful of -- _ugh_ \-- tofu baloney and pita chip sub.

“He seems...” Kurt considered his words carefully and set his own sandwich down on his paper plate. The heart-healthy sub his father was eating was doing enough to lower his mood; Kurt didn’t want to exacerbate things. Kurt took a deep breath before speaking. “I’m sure we’ll find an acceptable way to share our living space,” he said, which wasn’t _technically_ a lie.

Burt tilted his head to one side. “Uh-huh?”

Kurt nodded, his neck stiff.

“Kid, I’ve seen your _uncomfortable_ roomie look before, remember?”

“Well, he didn’t call anything _faggy_ , which is a minor victory I suppose, but,” Kurt said, his cheeks heating as his words came out in a long rush, “he immediately launched into a tirade about my penguin face, disparaged my success at last year’s Nationals, aggressively played teen pop at me, and I’m not entirely positive, but ... but I _think_ there was a bottle of Courvoisier on his nightstand.”

“Hm, well.” Burt leaned over and made as if to pat Kurt on his shoulder before realizing he still had a sandwich in hand. “College kids can be difficult. You don’t need him to have a great time at school.”

“I certainly don’t. I just suppose I’m a little worried about making friends.”

“You’ll be fine,” Burt said, squeezing Kurt’s shoulder with his sandwich-less hand. “You’re a great kid. People’d have to be crazy not to like you.”

“I think I’d have to be crazy to like _him_ ,” Kurt said, voice cracking. “He has a picture of _himself_ as his desktop wallpaper, Dad. A picture of himself _shirtless_.”

“You could always do that thing you did to your brother’s computer and, you know, change it?” Burt grinned. “Maybe to a penguin?”

“Haha,” Kurt grumbled, but wiped at his eyes. “I bet Mom wouldn’t have done that,” he said, knowing that his mom had been the one who’d gone to college, and it wasn’t as though he could ask her for advice. “I bet she made the Dean’s list after the first _week_.”

Burt laughed. “Oh, Kurt. I met her in those days, and trust me, she was smart as you, but a real prankster. She put dish soap in the fountain outside the frat. Used to crank call the boys who bugged her at five in the morning. Called herself the Wake-Up Brigade.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Kurt said. “I doubt beauty rest will be able to help the guy’s face anyways.”

“You’ll work it out.” Burt squeezed Kurt’s shoulder once more. “She’d be proud of you for everything.” Burt returned to his sandwich with a pointed throat clearing. “Eat up, kiddo. I have to hit the road soon.”

“Okay.” Kurt felt emboldened by his dad’s words, but still took the smallest bites possible. He didn’t feel sad, exactly, but didn’t want to say goodbye to the one tether to his life in Lima. It was some comfort that his Dad was also taking breaks after each bite to wipe his mouth. Before long, though, they were both done, and Burt clapped his hands together.

“Look,” Burt said, standing up. “I really gotta get going, so ...”

Kurt sighed, pressing his nose into his father’s jacket. It was an ugly, battered leather thing, but if he could just keep that smell, that comfort with him, maybe there was a chance he could get through this.

“Gonna be quiet; first your brother gone, and now you,” Burt said, and Kurt pretended he didn’t see his father press the heel of his palm against his eye, because _neither_ of them wanted to leave. It was a necessary evil.

“I’ll visit as often as I can,” Kurt replied, squeezing on tight, knowing that Thanksgiving seemed miles away. “I love you, Dad.”

Burt seemed to grip on even more tightly as he slapped Kurt’s back. “Love you too, son.”

And yet when Kurt broke from the hug and watched his father’s truck fade into the distance, all he could hear were echoes of Sebastian’s nasal voice making gagging noises.

It wasn’t even the end of day one; already, it had been one day too much.

\----

After a trip to the bathroom at the end of the hallway to wash his face, Kurt gripped the strap of his satchel with one hand, the privacy partition held tightly under his other arm. He focused on his breathing as he walked back to his small, horrendously beige dorm room. He hadn’t wanted his father to see just how much this was affecting him, because he knew that would have affected his father _more_. He’d only allowed his eyes to flood with tears once Burt had walked back to his truck, smile full of pride but eyes showing nothing but sadness. He took a few moments to compose himself, standing with his back against his dorm room’s cool, fake wooden door before walking in.

“The prodigal roommate returns,” Sebastian drawled from where he was leaning on the desk, iPod cradled in his broad hands. Kurt hadn’t noticed before that Sebastian was pretty tall; not quite as tall as Finn (carnival acts aside, who _was?_ ) but a good half a head above Kurt. His face hadn’t improved since Kurt saw him last. Grudgingly, Kurt had to admit Sebastian wasn’t _un_ attractive, but that sneer ...

“So,” Kurt said, smiling tightly at the guy as he set down his bag and propped his screen against the wall. “You never answered my emails.” Maybe they could start fresh.

Kurt thought back to his hopes and aspirations, which had mainly consisted of avoiding the subject of his sexuality and ascertaining whether his roommate-to-be would appreciate his favorite Sage and Citrus potpourri, or prefer the simpler scent of Clean Cotton. The name _smoothcriminalsmythe_ should have tipped him off to the fact that Sebastian didn’t care for much, potpourri included.

“Yeah. They were stupid, and I didn’t care,” Sebastian said, tucking his iPod away and seeming to appraise Kurt like a cheap painting. “I can say you’re slightly more interesting in person, though the fact you look like Casper the Gay Ghost is going to haunt me.”

Kurt forced himself not to flinch. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d shared a room with a latent homophobe who adored the sound of his own voice. “Well, we can’t all be as good-looking as you, now, can we?” Kurt said, sugary sweet. “I mean, I don’t know how you leave the house each morning without getting entranced by the sight of your own reflection.”

“Well, during particularly quiet French lessons, I sometimes wore my mirrored sunglasses backwards.”

“Saving other people from having to look at your rodent face. A true humanitarian.”

“Speaking of faces, isn’t it time for your beauty sleep? Looking a little tired around the eyes.”

Kurt looked at his phone. It wasn’t even time for dinner, yet. “Must be the exhausting company.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about your father, Kurt.”

“ _Present_ company.” Kurt sniffed, looking around the room for something, anything, to use as ammunition. He spotted his target with a smirk. “I’m pretty sure your _pillow pet_ is a more charming companion.

“You _don’t_ talk about that,” Sebastian said, walking across to his bed and deftly hiding the plush Ohio State Buckeyes themed ... thing from sight. “Just stay out of my way, Hummel.”

“Gladly, _Smythe_ ,” Kurt said, briefly envying the pillow pet for its hiding ability.

Kurt didn’t linger, spinning on his heel and returning to his suitcases. He spent the evening ignoring his roommate -- who disappeared for a few hours for reasons Kurt didn’t ask after, as he did not care -- and finished unpacking. He set up his computer and printer and got his schedule, cross-checking classes and locations for the following few weeks. He e-mailed Rachel, secretly hoping his best friend’s roommate was even more heinous. He felt productive, though, and quite satisfied, if not a teensy bit lonely. He’d hoped to find Blaine on Skype, but instead decided to venture out for food and potential socialization. He opened with door with keys in hand only to come face-to-face with Sebastian on the other side.

They both paused. Sebastian appeared to size him up once more, eyes scanning Kurt from head to toe before Kurt stepped aside with a roll of his eyes.

Sebastian opened his mouth as if to say something, but Kurt stalked out into the hall and let the door shut firmly behind him. He needed to refuel before he tried to match wits again with the overconfident, overgrown jerk. Dinner was some cold cuts and salad; he didn’t have much of an appetite after the day’s events. He managed to eat with a few people from his dorm, though, and was pleased to discover that not everyone hated him on first sight. They hung out for a while, exchanging info, and Kurt was ready to crash by the time he headed back to his dorm.

\-----

When Kurt opened the door, he frowned. The main lights were off, but the room was lit dimly from the lights streaming through the window. The _open_ window. Somehow, the room managed to have an icy chill, which must have been some sort of devil miracle on Sebastian’s part given the day’s hot and humid weather. Kurt shivered, dropping his keys onto his desk. Sebastian was on top of his bed, wearing a pair of boxers and an undershirt, reading by his desk lamp.

Kurt gathered his supplies and went through his nightly routine, then came out of the washroom to discover Sebastian had opened the window even _wider_. Kurt frowned with a shiver, changing behind his privacy partition. He chose his most comfortable, warmest pajamas. He walked over and slammed the window shut before settling into his bed.

Sebastian immediately reopened the window. “It’s eighty degrees outside,” he snapped. “I know small children need protection from the cold, but you’re being ridiculous.”

So. His roommate was _finicky_ , _too._

“What are you,” Kurt huffed, “some sort of skin-eating demon?”

“No. I just want to get the stench of twink out.”

Despite being a card-carrying atheist, Kurt actually considered the possibility of his roommate being less than human. After all, he’d watched more than enough episodes of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ with Tina, Blaine and Sam to know one’s first instincts about the not-human were often spot on.

“Hm. Perhaps it _is_ demonic pustules and not contagious acne,” Kurt said, getting up to close the window again. “I suppose ProActive doesn’t work on everybody, so sorry if I caused you any offense.” Kurt narrowed his eyes. “And point. Also? The stench of twink is clearly coming from _you_.”

\----

Among other points of conflict, ranging from Sebastian leaving his lacrosse socks on Kurt’s desk and Kurt spending too much time engaging in Skype karaoke with a girl who, “ _has the nose of Streisand but none of her talent_ ,” the fighting over the room’s stench (Sebastian) and frigidity (Kurt) persisted well into October.

After a full day of classes and a hot yoga session at the campus gym, Kurt would have kicked Liam Hemsworth out of his bed if it meant getting a good night’s rest. An hour after his microwaved warm milk, he still tossed and turned, though, grabbing the cuffs of both his pajama tops with his fingertips and pulling them down over his hands. He shivered as another gust of wind ruffled his hair and chilled his scalp. Even though he was turned on his side, the outline of Sebastian’s shadow was unmistakable. Kurt groaned as he yet again heard the creak of the window opening. He pushed himself up on his elbows to better see.

“What are you doing?” Kurt hissed. “You’ll let bugs in!”

Sebastian jumped a little, his bare skin glittering in the moonlight as though he were a villain in a pornographic James Bond remake. “There’s a screen,” he said, tapping at said screen with one long finger.

Kurt flopped back down, cheap mattress making a sad squeak at his movement. “Well, I’ll get cold!”

“Well, get another blanket!” Sebastian said, dropping back into bed.

“From where?” Kurt rolled over. The breeze made his flesh tingle unpleasantly under his layers. “Is there a blanket dispenser in the lobby?”

“No, but there’s a payphone, if you want to get one from someone who cares.”

Sebastian’s voice was as sharp and clear at the breeze in the room, cutting like a razor-edged knife, even though Sebastian currently had his bedsheets pulled up over his face. No doubt this was causing him to marinate in his own sweat. Kurt would have wished Sebastian a face like a pumice stone, but considering his roommate’s crater-like pores, that would have been an improvement.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian. Is this the eighties? Because that was _so_ dated.”

“Can’t you just go the fuck to sleep?”

“It makes sense,” Kurt continued, not caring that Sebastian had spoken. “Since you scream eighties music video villain. You do know you’re not _supposed_ to pop your collar, right?”

“Dear _god_ shut up.”

“Though, hm, I suppose you do need _something_ to distract from your neck to chin ratio ...”

“My ratios are fine, doughface,” Sebastian snarled.

“Please.” Kurt sneered at him. “You’re less Golden, and more Brass Ratio.”

“And you’re the Pillsbury Ratio.”

“And you’re going to close my window if you don’t want me to keep you up all night,” Kurt replied.

“ _Your_ window?” Sebastian snorted. “It’s not even high enough for you to reach.“

Kurt shook his head, and groped for his iPhone on the nightstand. He frowned, noticing a missed Skype notification from Blaine which he would have responded to if he hadn’t have been arguing with his roommate all evening. This needed to stop. Now. Considering his variety of friends, Kurt realized that only one person would have the answer to solving the problem.

 _My roommate keeps opening the window. So cold it makes Quinn look tropical. Undesirable creatures entering. Help_.

_berry?!? she wearing some shit that makes her look like some hot jew remake of the exocrist?!?_

Rolling his eyes, Kurt responded to Puck that there wasn’t an _actual_ creature climbing through the window, bangable or otherwise. And said creature _certainly_ wouldn’t have been Rachel. To which Puck quickly suggested a _badass_ nail gun, or potentially some superglue. After tapping out a thank you, Kurt put on his Burberry London trench, grabbed Sebastian’s Garmin, and sought out a 24-hour Target post haste.

It was only in the car that he realized a ton of Sebastian’s expensive European hair gel would have done exactly the same job.

\----

In November, Kurt found that the darker days resulted in him spending more time in the campus pub, and less time in his fetid, Sebastian-containing beige dollhouse of terror. To his surprise, he’d managed to find people who had the potential of being very good friends. And, given that the stereotypes about male Theater majors were delightfully true in all respects, possible more. Still, although Kurt had crushed hard and fast on Tom and his smile and Quentin and his sinfully tight pants, nobody quite matched up to Blaine.

Sebastian seemed to spend a lot of time out with friends of his own, too. Kurt wasn’t quite sure _how_ that was possible, considering his roommate’s personality, but he often had the beige cavern of his dorm to himself now. Kurt appreciated being able to shimmy along to show tunes to his heart’s content, but actually found himself missing the banter. It also helped that Sebastian was also quite the useful study companion. Nothing made Kurt want to study _harder_ than Sebastian’s nasally tone stating he was going to trounce Kurt’s GPA.

“Oh. Too bad,” Kurt said, quickly cutting the sound on his laptop as Sebastian sauntered in with a swagger to his step. He tapped his squiggle pen against his notebook -- Biology was no trouble; he’d spent more than enough time in high school becoming acquainted with primates. “I was hoping your creature of the night might take pity on you and let you stay before turning to dust in the morning.”

“Aww. Someone wanted to jack off, didn’t he? Too bad.” Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, throwing his bag on Kurt’s bed, forcefully enough for half its contents to roll out onto the floor. “It’s not as though he was the man of my dreams; I’m sure I’ll cope with a fuck-and-run.”

“I--” Kurt sputtered, examining the bottle of Purell intently. “I’m sorry. Did you ... did you just say _man_?”

Sebastian laughed. “The sex was good, but staring down at his _How to Train Your Dragon_ sheet set while he was on all fours really killed the mood.”

Kurt could feel his eyes widening, and begin to dry up. He heard his squiggle pen drop to the floor before he felt it. Sebastian was _gay_? How could that pompous, obnoxious, arrogant, red meat-eating, spider-legged joke of a --

Okay, a gay Sebastian actually made a great deal of sense. Santana had suggested it when she’d seen Sebastian’s side of the dorm room during one of their Skype chats, but Kurt had soon rationalized Sebastian couldn’t be gay, because _no_ gay man would have hair like _that_. The thing was, Kurt had to grudgingly admit that Santana’s gaydar was even more reliable than her witty comebacks, or ability to hide razor blades in plant pots. Kurt looked around the room, and Santana’s initial appraisal of Sebastian echoed in his head:

 _Lacrosse is gayer than a rainbow, Kurt. You’ve seen_ Teen Wolf _._ Teen Wolf _is gayer then the Village People covering Adam Lambert while wrestling in a leather bar. Seriously, Kurt! The bottle on his nightstand he claims is hair gel? The jokes he makes about getting you on Grindr? The fact he’s never even mentioned_ liking _girls, let alone brought one back to your room to ‘show you how it’s done’?_

Slapping his hand to his forehead, Kurt cursed himself for his terrible gaydar, especially when it came to players of team sports with large mouths and small brains. Maybe, Kurt rationalised, he’d tried to look beyond the stereotypes for once? Whatever the case may be, having the same sexuality certainly wouldn’t change anything between them. Sebastian might have been fond of the fellas, but he was still Sebastian, and he was still fair game for banter.

“It’s interesting that it was the sheet set which killed the mood,” Kurt said, wishing he had a lock of hair to twirl. “Because for me? That pillow pet of yours you continue to insist on crowning your bed with would be a deal breaker.”

Sebastian actually _pouted_. “That was a _gift_!”

“A gift that I’m positive I’ve seen you snuggling at night.”

“You’ve been watching me at night?” Sebastian arched his brow. “Mm. Why, Kurt, you only had to ask.”

Kurt ignored him. “Let me guess, _Billy Buckeye_ was from the one who got away?”

Sebastian actually looked a little ... sad at that. Or mad, perhaps. Possibly even nostalgic? They’d been living together for several months, now, and it was still fairly difficult to read Sebastian’s expressions which mostly consisted of _scowl_ and _smirk_.

“Makes sense,” Kurt muttered. “From what I know of you, not many get away.”

“Well. One did. But he only got away for seventeen minutes.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if you’d actually timed yourself.”

Sebastian nodded, pride etched all over his face. “A new record.”

They lapsed into silence, Kurt re-opening his Bio textbook to try and cram some more evolutionary knowledge into his brain to consolidate the success of his midterm. Sebastian walked over to his Keurig and fixed himself a coffee, Kurt unwilling to admit that the whir and aroma of the machine was quite comforting, in its own way. Yet, Kurt’s brain wouldn’t focus on biology. He soon realized that, despite the _gay ghost_ jokes and digs at his voice, he’d never actually confirmed his roommate’s speculations about his sexuality. Perhaps, in spite of their different interests and dress senses -- or lack thereof in Sebastian’s case -- they could bond somewhat over actually having found some common ground at last?

\----

Thanksgiving had always been one of Kurt’s favorite holidays. A time for family, food and fun. Drama. Noisiness. At least one person choking on a turkey bone. Tears, mainly due to the choking on a turkey bone. And much, _much_ self-censoring. Case in point: finding out the previous year that Rachel _loved_ the nicknames Finn had given her boobs and refraining from asking Finn if Rachel had nicknames for _his_.

With Finn sulking in his room about Rachel and quitting the Army, Kurt found himself the center of everyone’s attention. In theory, that was appealing. After Carole had drunk half a box of cheap Chardonnay? Not so much.

“So how is college? Really?” Burt said, slinging his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “You’ve not been to any of those wild parties, have you? Blaine said he saw that Facebook thing of yours, and that flashmob thing looked pretty ...”

“Oh, we just went down to the --” Kurt paused, taking a sip of his wine. He couldn’t bring up _drinking_ at a pub with his dad. Sure, Burt allowed a few drinks on special occasions, but there wasn’t a chance he’d get away with drinking without supervision. “Library.”

“That some kinda bar?” Burt said, to which Carole covered her mouth, her cheeks increasingly flushed.

“No. It’s an actual library,” Kurt continued. “And people were competing to see who could--” _take the most shots in a minute_ “--find books the fastest. This girl from my Bio class volunteered me, and well, I won.”

Kurt grinned, soaking up the pleased expression on his step-mom’s face. Never let it be said that Kurt Hummel didn’t have untapped talents. He went back to his turkey, swinging his legs under the table.

Burt still looked rather skeptical, though.

“I’m very good with ISBNs,” Kurt hastened to add. “I enjoy putting things in order.”

“Uh huh. Well. I’m glad you’re learnin’ new things, having fun,” Burt said. “Start of September, you were pretty worried about the whole college thing.”

“Ah yes, the curse of the swamp rat roommate,” Kurt sighed. “I admit, after spending over two months with him, he isn’t _too_ bad.”

Burt smiled, clapping Kurt on the knee. “I knew you’d make friends.”

“Let’s not go _that_ far. We _do_ have a good rapport.” Kurt hesitated. “And, well, I recently found out that he’s gay too. So we have at least one thing in common.”

“He’s gay?” Burt furrowed his brows. “Oh! Uh. Um, you two aren’t…?”

“No, Dad!” Kurt flushed. Him and Sebastian! Who could ever think that? “Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean we have to _date_. You didn’t date every straight girl you knew, did you?!”

“Okay, okay.” Burt held up his hands. “It’s just been a while since you an’ Blaine broke up.” Kurt sighed. He was pretty sure his dad had taken that break-up harder than he did. “And the two of you, there’s not ...?”

“No. It was a wonderful high school romance, but I’m not rushing to find anyone,” Kurt said. “I’m hoping to find my feet at college first. It’s not like there’s a time limit to put a ring on this, or anything.”

Burt exuded gruff pride. “You’ve grown up a lot, bud.”

“Thanks.” Kurt sniffed. “So you mentioned on the phone you had something to ask me?” Best to get away from the topic of dating, or even sex. Having conversations like that with his dad had effectively made it so the term _you matter_ made his ears burn.

“That’s right!” Carole looked up from her wine, still pushing vegetables around her dinner plate. “Are you going to tell him now, honey?”

“Well, I dunno ...” Burt looked as though he wanted to loosen the collar on his shirt. “I dunno if now’s the time. I don’t think ... I mean ...”

“Dad?” Kurt gasped, setting his cutlery down. He braced himself for bad news, but although Carole was squeezing his dad’s hand, they both had smiles on their faces.

“Well. You know how Congress is ... all suits, and bigwigs, and look at me? I’m blue collar as Mellencamp, honest and hardworkin’ and all, but ...” He rubbed at his head. Kurt suppressed the urge to tell his father that he wasn’t the Buddha, and the gesture would unlikely bring him good luck. “But, I need to ask you a favor, kid.”

Carole spluttered a little. “Your father’s been tol- ... _asked_ to participate in a Father and Son Foursomes Golf Tournament next year. Isn’t that exciting!”

Kurt didn’t miss a beat. “Fantastic! I’m sure Finn will be _thrilled_!”

“Thrilled _you’re_ taking part.” Burt grinned.

“But ... I don’t do sports!” Kurt huffed. “I’m a good spectator. I like to spectate. And critique.”

“You seemed to be a pretty good kicker back at McKinley,” Burt reminded him. “And you got that ... odd little shimmy thing going for ya, so.” Burt flapped his free hand in a crude parody of the Single Ladies dance while shoveling sweet potatoes in his mouth.

“But golf!” Kurt exclaimed. “The grass, and the dirt, and ... oh god, the outfits! I’m going to look like Mr. Schue. I’m going to look like Mr. Schue on an old people _cruise_. That is not my thing.”

“I don’t know, honey.” Carole slurred. “There’s a lot of holes. And balls.”

“Carole!” Kurt spluttered. “What is _in_ that Chardonnay? _Everclear_?”

Burt just grinned back at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s my wife,” he said, and Kurt cringed as he heard his father slap Carole on the thigh. “What?” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “She’s a keeper!”

“Don’t let me keep ya,” Kurt muttered back.

Carole took yet another sip of her wine, the amber liquid sloshing over the edge of her glass as she set it down with a high-pitched giggle. “Did you say you were spending the night at the Berry’s after dessert?”

“Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite,” Kurt muttered.

\-----

Kurt excused himself, and immediately set off to the Berry residence. After being plied with vegan cheesecake, and debating the merits of Tofutti with Blaine, Rachel turned to the pair with bright, crazy eyes and extracted a bright pink golf tee from her purse.

“Oh _god_ , no,” Kurt muttered. “No.”

Rachel’s grin, if possible, went even wider and she flourished her hands, clearing her throat before speaking. “Our theme for last week’s Shabbat meal was the importance of charity, not to mention social rights. My daddy Hiram had a business meeting recently, and mentioned he wanted to sign up for a charity golf tournament. Doesn’t that sound delightful?”

“Uh-huh,” Kurt nodded, frowning as Rachel extracted a bright pink plaid Elmer Fudd-type hat and placed it on her head. “Delightful.”

“But daddy said that it was for fathers and _sons_.”

“Yes, my own dad told me that --”

“Fathers and _sons_ , Kurt! This is the _twenty first century_! What sort of a world do we live in, where, where ... where a _daughter_ can’t accompany her two gay dads for a charitable cause! Such injustice! I, of course, explained the situation from my perspective and my fathers agreed wholeheartedly. It only took seven e-mails and two long-distance phone calls, but ...” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, then extracted an identically patterned but somewhat larger bright blue hat from her Mary Poppins-like purse. “We’re in!” She squealed, then leaned towards Kurt, hand on his arm. “Finn always said that I should share more of _his_ interests, and I heard from Blaine that your father was very keen on participating, Kurt.”

“I definitely think your brother could do with aligning himself with social justice issues,” Blaine added, smirking as he turned to Kurt. “Don’t you?”

“Yes! This could be the bedrock for our reunion!” Rachel squealed, pulling out a polka dot trapper keeper. “What rhymes with golf?” She frowned. “Blaine, do you know if Mr. Schue is still in possession of my rhyming dictionary?”

Kurt was sure his face really _did_ look like Casper the Gay Ghost. “We-ell,” he drawled, “I think if we’re _really_ going to make a stand, a blue collar member of congress and his bumbling stepson who shot himself in the thigh after two weeks in the Army doesn't send out the best message.”

“Absolutely.” Blaine’s eyes positively shone. “What better statement than a gay father and his daughter, and a congressman and his gay son!” he exclaimed. “Don’t you think it’s time to shake things up a little? Get away from the stereotypes?”

Rachel pouted. “But I ordered this Big and Tall golf cap specifically for the occasion! What could be more romantic to Finn than the great outdoors, followed by a brief tete-a-tete in a cozy clubhouse to resolve our ... very surmountable -- but not _impossible_ \-- differences?”

Blaine looked to Kurt, raising an eyebrow. It went unsaid. Kurt knew he had to take one for the team. Man up, so to speak, and prevent a repetition of the Nationals face-eating debacle occurring in a place where there would likely be even more cameras. He sighed, picking at the seam of his jeans.

“Sorry, Rachel,” Kurt gritted out. “But dad has already requested _I_ be his plus one.”

“Brooks Brothers has some _fantastic_ offers on sweaters right now!” Blaine added.

As Rachel pouted and muttered something about lost chances before she began to discuss the evening’s DVD choices and popcorn preferences with them both, Kurt realized there was less chance of Katy Perry getting back together with Russell Brand than he had of weaseling his way out of participating in this golf nonsense.

\----

Thanksgiving put one into the mood of appreciation, and there were certainly _some_ things to be grateful for when it came to Sebastian. Kurt had learned that Rachel’s roommate was also promiscuous, and thought there was nothing wrong with bringing her flavors of the night back for loud sex while Rachel was still in the room. Rachel had told Kurt that even the most ardent rendition of “Mama Who Bore Me” wouldn’t stop Megan from evicting her conquests. In fact, it apparently spurred her on. Although Kurt was aware Sebastian was releasing his noxious emissions in their room, he made sure to wait until Kurt was gone for the evening. If Kurt walked in on him, it was merely a scheduling issue.

With that in mind, Kurt got to thinking of Sebastian’s social life. Being promiscuous was an alien concept to him, but it had been a while since he and Blaine broke up, and he missed flirting over coffee. Perhaps it was time to meet some new people? Kurt rationalized Sebastian would appreciate that, too. It was a friendly gesture. Altruistic, even. It would widen both their social circles. It wasn’t that Sebastian would know a lot of hot, toned gay guys from his lacrosse team. Of _course_ not.

“Do you know what we should do, Sebastian?” Kurt asked him mid-way through conjugating French verbs.

“Throw a party and get something other than a stick up your ass?”

“Throw a party to get to _know_ people,” Kurt replied. He smiled. “Yes, we should do that. Our room is big enough for a small get-together. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Sure does, Bub!” Sebastian said, mock chipper. Kurt couldn’t help but laugh at the salute he fired off in Kurt’s direction. “But really, it _is_ about time we threw a party. I’ll do refreshments. You can do the boring planning details, since you seem the type to like that sort of thing.”

Kurt squealed, clapping his hands together. “Of course! I love parties!”

“Uh-huh.” Sebastian had already pulled out his phone and was tapping away.

“But tasteful ones,” Kurt continued. “You know, caviar and cleverness, not just drunken idiocy and orgies.”

“Yeah.”

“So that’s what we’ll do! What sort of theme could we do? End of term is the natural suggestion, but it’s a little generic, isn’t it?”

“Hm.”

“You’re right, something that encourages creativity. Oh! And a little healthy competition. Like a costume party with prizes for the best dressed.”

“Yep.” 

“Ooh! Back when I was at McKinley, my brother and I did a dress as a country evening when our parents were in Washington. But the football team turned it into _drink_ like a country, and Puck was France. It was an absolute nightmare.” Kurt’s shook his head at the memory. “You can only imagine the Eiffel Tower puns. And you don’t want to _know_ what Sam did with my handmade blinis...”

Sebastian shuddered so visibly that Kurt was half-tempted to invite Puck to his party and introduce the pair.

“Exactly. But this is college, and we’re all growing up. Some wine, a cheese plate ... some fun, of course, but nobody behaving like a cretin. How many bottles should we get?”

“Give me sixty.” Sebastian put his phone away.

Kurt blinked. “That seems a little excessive.”

“Dollars, you idiot,” Sebastian smirked. “Yours truly is getting a keg and some miscellaneous bottles, and you’re going to split the bill.”

“Didn’t you listen to anything I said?” Kurt fumed. “Classy. Classy!”

“Look. I’ll go along with your childish country theme, but nobody’s going to show up if you don’t have beer. This is college, not a retirement home.” Sebastian raised a finger to his lips, as though he were considering that. “Actually, I’m pretty sure retirees know how to have more fun than you.”

“I know how to have fun!” Kurt protested. “I’m always ready for a kiki!”

“A _what_?” Sebastian shook his head. “Well, _fun_ people let drinking happen. You don’t have to do a keg stand, or play beer pong; just don’t be a wet blanket.” Sebastian’s lips twitched. “I can even make you a Shirley Temple.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, but he _did_ like his Shirleys at the campus pub. “Fine. But if a single drop of vomit lands on my side of the privacy partition, or if I have to pull a teen movie move and save a vase from destruction, _you_ are covering damages.”

“There are no vases in this room.”

Kurt huffed, “I’m going to buy one. Before the party.”

“ _Really_?”

Kurt nodded, and gestured to Sebastian’s side of the room; in the midst of the cliched Klimt posters, the room was crying out for some class. “Do we have a deal?”

“Only if you promise to clean up if there _aren’t_ damages,” Sebastian said.

“Hm,” Kurt cradled his face in his hands. “I can see what you’re playing at, but I’m not sure I trust a spoiled little rich boy to know how to clean.” Kurt jutted his chin up, staring Sebastian down. His roommate only grinned.

“You’re right. I _am_ rich and spoiled. It’s awesome. If you weren’t so blue collar, I would suggest you try it.”

“My dad is a Congressman!” Kurt pointed out. “Not that there’s any shame in a _real_ job where you get your hands dirty.”

“Oh trust me, Hummel.” Sebastian licked his lips, his grin turning predatory. Kurt fought the urge to step back. “I have definitely gotten my hands dirty.”

“What, in the context of a job?” Kurt smiled, aiming for sympathy. “I didn’t know you were a streetwalker. Do you want me to Pretty Woman you?”

“No, I don’t settle for second best.” Sebastian stroked his chin. “I want Richard Gere to Pretty Woman _me_.”

There was a pause, and Kurt looked at Sebastian. Like this, there was almost something vulnerable about him.

“Yeah, me too,” Kurt breathed out. They shared a smile, then both shook their heads. “Alright, Sebastian. I’ll get you your money.” He sighed. “In any case, now that there seems to be a _little_ less animosity between us, I wondered if perhaps I could ask you --”

“Sweet, but we’re a little too old for the Sadie Hawkins dance.”

“I need to learn how to play golf,” Kurt gritted out. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head up a little to meet Sebastian’s bleary expression. “And I need to be _good_.”

“Well.” Sebastian chuckled in response. “ _That_ was unexpected. Golf?”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “I know you play it, because your competitive nature can only handle so many team sports.”

“Hm. You went snooping and saw my golf trolley, didn’t you?”

“Santana might have led me to it during one of our Skype dates,” Kurt shrugged. “She agrees with me that there might be a good twin hidden within its depths. A good twin with a much better sense of fashion.”

“But why would _you_ want to play _golf_?”

“I don’t want to,” Kurt said. “I _have_ to. There’s a Father and Son Foursomes tournament.” He sighed. “Re-election to Congress is demanding on both time and finances, and I can’t make a fool of myself. Blaine insists he _doesn’t_ play golf, but...” Kurt threw his hands up in the air, then searched his phone for a photo of Blaine. “Look at how he _dresses_. He’s probably been reducing his handicap since second grade; there _has_ to be a reason for those pastel socks and sweater vests. And I ... I can’t ever disappoint my dad.”

Sebastian laughed. Repeatedly. “I _knew_ you had a daddy kink. I bet you’re just begging for someone to remove that stick from your ass and cane you with it.” He raised an eyebrow, devouring the picture of Blaine as though he were a particularly tasty snack.

Kurt snatched his phone back. “So, will you help?”

“I thought your brother was the dashing young jock of the house?”

“He is,” Kurt replied. “But there’s a lot of old money at these events, and my father needs the assistance of someone who won’t be ejected after kicking over the spectator’s chairs. So. Will you help? I know you’d want something in return, so perhaps I could tutor you in French?”

Sebastian folded his hands across his chest. “I used to live in Montmartre. I hardly need yours, or anyone’s assistance in _French_.” Sebastian didn’t miss a beat, greatly enjoying the mixture of envy and annoyance Kurt knew was etched over his face. “L'esprit de l’escalier, Hummel. Look it up.”

“Elevator wit,” Kurt responded, equally quickly. “Well, I _can_ see why that would be a familiar concept. Hm.” He chewed his lip a little. “Oh! How about a makeover?”

“Do you mean for me or yourself?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Does the Devil wear Prada?”

“Well, okay. If you insist on me restyling your Bedouin twink chic,” Sebastian said, one side of his mouth raised in a smirk. “I still can’t see why your father would want _you_ to accompany him instead of your red-blooded, GI Joke brother.”

“You know even _less_ about my father than you know about _me_ , but my father agrees with me that stereotypes need to be broken. That’s also why my best friend will be attending. We’ll be partnering with her, and her _two_ gay, Republican dads.”

“I didn’t realise Republicans were so important to you. I suppose you’re such a prude it makes sense.”

“Point,” Kurt admitted, grudgingly. “Rachel isn’t the best advertisement for responsible same-sex parenting. Look, let me be honest with you. The only reason I’m doing this is because we can’t afford the therapy bills of dealing with the fallout of another Finchel reunion. Poor Rachel can’t even be in the same city without an overriding urge to both consume my brother’s face, and punch it. And Finn would just write a song about it, and considering what he rhymed _tethered_ with the last time he tried an original composition ...”

“Ah!” Sebastian clapped his hands together. “So being friends with sexual tension is a familiar concept for you?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Whoever said Finn and Rachel were friends?”

“I wasn’t talking about _them_ ,” Sebastian said, then chuckled, his expression oddly innocent and bereft of both _smirk_ and _scowl_ as he went back to typing his Economics paper.

Kurt set his French assignment aside, and went back to bedazzling some solo cups, deciding to focus the attention on his party instead of golf. He had several months to work on his golf skills, but only a few hours before a party upon which his burgeoning reputation was at stake.

\----

Sebastian and Kurt were rarely in agreement, but they were able to concur that their end-of-term country party was a raging success.

It was also a rager. So much alcohol had flowed in the beige torture chamber they lived in the previous night that a lit match would have quickly burned the room to the ground. Kurt was distinctly fuzzy the next day with a tongue like dry cotton wool, but as he blinked his eyes open he steeled himself for the worst. He emerged from his closet with his duvet wrapped around him -- his bed had been _occupied_ when he wanted to sleep -- and decided to push past the anvils in his head and clean up. Cups, and the gems Kurt had carefully bedazzled upon them, were everywhere. Spills; stains; crushed Cheetos in the carpet weave; at least two bras hanging out of the window; a trashcan, which needed to be emptied, smelling like cake-flavoured vodka vomit and regret. Sebastian was on Kurt’s defiled bed, yawning.

“I still don’t see how _that_ fitted the brief of dressing as a country,” Kurt said, gesturing at Sebastian’s form. The other man turned to him with a smirk that was positively lascivious, making his eyes twinkle despite the purplish circles under them from his late night. He was wearing his boxers, as well as his -- _ugh, flannel_ \-- shirt which still bore the sticky label stating ‘Blame Me’. “All the effort I put in to find a Bulgarian rose gilet, and you had to cheapen everything, as usual.”

“I was Canada, as I repeatedly explained,” Sebastian said. Kurt still wasn’t sure how dressing like Finn on laundry day equated to Canada, and he didn’t care to ask. “I don’t see why you went to all that effort to dress as France. Your frog face is a healthy indication on its own.”

Kurt huffed out a puff of air, but like they’d agreed at four am before they’d both passed out: Best. Party. Ever.

\-----

Kurt decided to empty out the trashcan before all else, accepting high fives and jubilant cries of “it was _wild_ ” and “let’s do it again, Frenchie!” from his floormates while walking the halls. He returned with a rinsed and mostly clean trashcan, and some garbage bags from a supply closet. Sebastian still sat on his bed, looking as bleary as Kurt felt and clutching an espresso cup in his hand. Kurt shook out a bag and began to clean. He raised an eyebrow as Sebastian immediately stood up and tossed aside his duvet, scowling at his bed as though it had done him some grievous wrong. He tore off the sheets, and threw the pillows on the floor, wildly shaking his head before thumping his fist onto the mattress with a loud curse.

“Ah. I see we’re starting with the dirtiest item in the room, yes?”

“Wheres my damn pillow?” Sebastian said, while Kurt gently placed red solo cups into a garbage bag, one-by-one.

“Let me check my tracker GPS,” Kurt said. “I had one installed once I realised how much you loved that incredibly tacky thing.”

“Shut up,” Sebastian snapped, flinging himself back down on his mattress. “I can’t help I accepted an admittedly pedestrian gift from a dear friend. It’s what friends do. Not that you know, as that would require actually having some.”

“I have friends,” Kurt snapped back. “Like you can talk, anyways. I don’t think I’ve seen a picture of this _friend_ , or any other of your so-called friends.”

“Aww, was _widdle_ Kurt looking forward to show-and-tell?” Sebastian threw a beer-stained pillow at Kurt who batted it away before it could touch his half of the floor. “Sorry to disappoint, but my life is my life.” He squinted at Kurt; the stink eye was so vicious that it seemed unnecessary, even coming from Sebastian. He flopped back down on the bed with a sigh. “I mean really, Hummel. Would I buy that thing for myself?”

“Definitely not,” Kurt admitted. “No one buys pillow pets for themselves.”

“No one,” Sebastian agreed.

“Maybe my friend Brittany, but ...” Kurt considered Sebastian’s prone form. Was Sebastian ... sniffling? There was something about the gift, and indeed the friend concerned, that clearly meant a great deal to Sebastian. Perhaps it was the alcohol still clouding his brain, or the brief surge of warmth from Sebastian that had melted it, because Kurt just smiled, and said, “I’ll help you find your fluff friend.”

“Really?” Sebastian propped himself up on his elbows. Kurt was amazed how his roommate managed to turn even the simplest and clumsiest of post-drinking moves into some sort of a _draw me like one of your French girls_ moment. “Why? I’ve been ...” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that for you.”

“Because ...” Kurt drew the word out, trying for an explanation that didn’t betray his weakness at the pout on Sebastian’s face. “If I do, you’ll become Facebook friends with me, and let me see all your pictures and posts. Embarrassing, or otherwise.”

“You were one of those kids who begged for friends on MySpace, weren’t you?”

“That’s a _terrible_ thing to say.”

“But, fine. I’ll see if I can increase your meagre friend count to double figures, but only if you find the damn pillow.”

“Sounds good,” Kurt said, picking Sebastian’s duvet off the floor and tossing it back on the bed. “Here. Let the smell of sexual emissions lull you back to sleep, and stay out of my way.”

“Like I’d want to _be_ in your way,” Sebastian muttered, rolling himself up like a pig in a blanket. “Have fun cleaning up,” he said, pulling a book off his nightstand with his free arm and beginning to read.

Kurt scowled extra hard, even though Sebastian wasn’t paying attention. He continued to dispose of the garbage, and once he’d removed it from the room he started to Febreze, making sure he spritzed extra hard around Sebastian’s bed.

“Watch it!” Sebastian coughed, waving his book around in the air. “You’ll give me a sinus condition!”

“With how nasally your voice is, I’m pretty sure you already have one,” Kurt replied, waggling the container then spritzing one last time at Sebastian’s head.

“Nasally? That’s a cultivated edge, you plebe.”

“Uh-huh.” Kurt switched the Febreze to a bottle of Lysol, and began to scrub down the table where a particularly rousing game of flip cup had gone down. Of course, Sebastian had to sing in retort.

_“Uptown girl, she’s been living in her uptown world...”_

Kurt paused his scrubbing and smiled. The last time he’d heard that song -- or indeed any Billy Joel -- was that time Blaine had performed with the Warblers. It was the first time that Kurt could think of memories from Dalton and enjoy them for what they were, rather than longing to return to the confines of his school days. Despite the fact Sebastian’s voice didn’t really blend with his own countertenor, or perhaps because he wanted to balance that nasal whine out, Kurt began to hum along.

\----

The next weekend, Kurt awoke with an itchy nose. He then felt something cool, and possibly plastic balanced on the delicate tip. Kurt lay there silently, inhaling shallowly and aiming to fake sleep, because this _had_ to be a prank. Admittedly, after Kurt had done things like recommend the wrong kind of moisturiser for Sebastian’s acne-prone skin and snuck Axe body spray into his expensive French cologne, it would be sensible retaliation. If something wet was about to drop on him, though, he’d --

“I know you’re awake, Chas. You’re stiffer than a guy checking me out.”

“Please tell me you have a trash can there for me to vomit in,” Kurt replied, the movement of speech making the plastic square slide down onto his jaw. Blinking, he sat up, opened his eyes and retrieved the item. Sebastian was sprawled on the edge of his bed, reading a book. “Did you just call me Chas?”

Sebastian just smirked, nodding at the card in Kurt’s hands. Finally examining the item, Kurt saw it was an ID that read Chas Donaldsworth.

“Did you take up pickpocketing? I did say you needed a hobby, but ...”

“It’s a fake ID,” Sebastian said. “We’re going clubbing tonight, since exams aren’t on us yet and you’re going back to Podunk soon for the holidays. For now, you’re an adult.”

“You think I’m able to pass as twenty-one?” Kurt asked. “I don’t think I’ll look twenty-one when I’m in my thirties.” He pouted a little, because he appreciated the power of youth, but _still_.

“No. But do you think they give a shit as long as they can say they saw an ID?” Sebastian abruptly got up and walked over to Kurt’s closet, flinging the doors open. Kurt eyed him cautiously, and put his slippers on before sliding out of bed. “They just want your money.”

“Makes sense,” Kurt admitted. “I’m not much of a drinker, though.”

Sebastian threw him a look over his shoulder, one arm buried inside Kurt’s closet. Kurt would complain at this, but he was still sleep-mugged, and at least he knew Sebastian had better hand hygiene than most college boys.

“Hummel, you tried to do a keg stand at our party. Impressive considering I couldn’t even _get_ a keg. And didn’t you win at Shots Night?”

“I don’t remember this, and choose to deny your claims,” Kurt replied staunchly. “I’ll have water when we’re there.”

“Whatever, Temperance McVirtue,” Sebastian turned back to the closet, shifting aside the carefully hung items. Kurt walked over and grabbed at Sebastian’s arm to still the unnecessary jostling of his clothes, frowning up at him.

“What are you doing? Finally admitting your tragic fashion sense and looking for tips?”

Sebastian paused, giving Kurt’s hand on his arm an unreadable look, and Kurt let it drop. “Hm, no. I’m trying to see if you have anything in your closet that doesn’t scream you’re a virgin who can’t drive.”

“I am not a virgin,” Kurt said. “I can drive very proficiently. _And_ I can dress myself.”

“Then please,” Sebastian snorted, stepping away from the closet. “Go ahead. But you better look hot -- well, hot for _you_ \-- or I’m not going anywhere with you. All the guys will want me, of course, but my entourage needs to at least be passable.”

“And here I was, wondering why you were being nice,” Kurt said with a smirk. “It’s just because nobody else wants to go out with you, isn’t it?”

“I choose to deny your claim,” Sebastian replied, in a gratingly high-pitched tone before continuing in his usual nasal one. “Just ... find some of that bondage slut gear you claim is couture and try not to embarrass me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do a fine job of that yourself,” Kurt grumbled, pushing past Sebastian to examine his closet space. He waved his hands around. “Go away. I can’t focus with you breathing down my neck.”

“That’s what all the boys say,” Sebastian said, smiling brightly. At Kurt’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Well, minus the go away part. Normally they beg me to stay.”

“I’m sure they beg you to leave, too.” Kurt shivered a little at the feel of Sebastian breathing down his neck. “Don’t you have to floss your horse teeth, or shave your chest or something?”

“Aw, I promise one day, you’ll get to shave just like daddy,” Sebastian cooed.

Finally, Sebastian backed away, and whistled to himself as he grabbed his bathrobe and shower supplies and presumably went to do what he could to try and look presentable. Kurt didn’t dignify Sebastian with a response, instead turning his full attention to his ensemble. He was determined to look absolutely stunning tonight. Kurt very much doubted clubbing was his _thing_ , it seemed too sweaty and lacking in personal space for that, but if he managed to turn a head or three while Sebastian lurked in the corner like a sex troll? He would feel the night a success.

\----

Clubbing, to Kurt’s delight, didn’t involve as much feet sticking to the floor and men asking to be his “daddy” as he thought it would. He and Sebastian were dancing together, Kurt sipping on his Black Russian and bopping and shimmying, while Sebastian cruised for guys. And, Kurt noted, waved his hands like an idiot. Though he wouldn’t admit it to Sebastian, Kurt was enjoying himself; the pounding of the music and the crush of people who just wanted to have a good time felt invigorating and intoxicating, and Kurt was actually picking up a great deal of anonymous hook-up tips from observing Sebastian in his natural habitat.

Sebastian had already disappeared that evening for a _very_ brief spell (during which Kurt had entertained himself by dancing between two guys called Ross and Chandler, much to his never-ending amusement) and came back looking even more smug than usual. In his words, Sebastian was now “back at the buffet” for “seconds.”

Right away, Kurt looked up to see Sebastian’s head swing round, his roommate staring into the crowd like a dog that had just heard a whistle.

“Check _that_ piece of prime real estate,” Sebastian said loudly.

Kurt made a skeptical noise -- Sebastian’s taste was always in question -- but when he spotted the guy Sebastian was talking about, Kurt had to admit the guy was gorgeous. Tall, built, and pale eyes that seemed positively electric from this side of the club. The guy ran a hand through his oh-so-scrunchable dark brown hair as he moved fluidly towards them, pausing to dance with a few randoms on the way.

Sebastian licked his lips. “Mm. He _so_ wants it.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Kurt replied, pressing at Sebastian’s chest so he could get a better look at the guy.

“And by it, I mean _me_.” Sebastian set his drink down and ran a hand through his hair. “How do I look? Sexy, right?”

Kurt snorted. “I’ll plead the fifth. He might not want you.”

“It’s a sure thing,” Sebastian said, licking his lips again. Like a snake tasting the air. “Mind giving us some space?”

“Whatever,” Kurt said quietly. He twirled away, thinking it might be time for a water break. He could hear Sebastian doing his patented sleazy greeting, and yelped a little when a large hand closed around his elbow. Turning, he bumped into a girl with high heels and even higher hair, and laughed loudly as she stroked his face. He thought for a second that the touch was hers, until he saw that Sebastian’s sure thing was actually holding on to _him_.

“Hey!” the guy -- Sebastian’s _sure thing_ \-- shouted, exposing his Hollywood smile. Oh _god_ he had a nice mouth, full of bright white teeth, and a pink tongue that was currently flicking over his top lip.

Kurt felt his throat dry, not sure of what to do. It was one thing to see Sebastian do this dance, multiple times; it was another to recreate it. _Sebastian_ , Kurt reminded himself, and looked past the gorgeous guy in front of him to see that his roommate’s mouth hung open as he stared at the pair of him. This was more then enough to spurn Kurt into action.

“Hey yourself,” Kurt replied, stepping closer and smiling what he hoped was a coquettish smile. “Kurt.”

“Jon,” the guy guy said, drawing even closer so their bodies were nearly flush. There was no need for shouting at this distance. “You wanna go somewhere ... quieter?”

Kurt gulped, really wishing he’d had that water break. _Way too fast!_ his rational mind whispered, while his Id screamed, _do you_ see _those biceps_? And yes, Kurt certainly saw them. He also saw Sebastian, who was still staring at the pair of them, mouth now fixed in an ugly grimace. When he noticed Kurt looking, he rolled his eyes and waved his hands in a shooing motion.

“Sure,” Kurt said, managing to turn the word into two syllables as his voice cracked, and Jon chuckled at the result. The low sound made his chest vibrate a little, and _oh_ , he didn’t quite feel like he could put one foot in front of the other at this point. He reached for his Black Russian, and downed the rest in one gulp.

“Sure,” Kurt repeated, more strongly. “Outside? I ... I need some air.”

Judging from the way Jon placed a kiss to his ear and swiped his tongue along Kurt’s pulse point, it seemed as though Jon needed air, too.

Lots of private, open air.

\----

And that’s how Kurt Hummel, who had previously had a boyfriend who described their teenage fumbles as _courting_ , found himself pressed against the dirty concrete wall of a club, not less than ten feet away from a dumpster, while Jon the Gorgeous kissed him breathless and rocked a toned thigh between his legs. Kurt groaned, tilting his head back against the cold concrete. The whole night was clear and cold, but Kurt didn’t feel it given the heat and friction between them. He pulsed with need, hard and wanting more as Jon moved to nip at his collarbone, but there was still a part of his brain which reminded him that ... well. Dirty wall of a club. Not ten feet away from a dumpster.

“Maybe ... we shouldn’t ...” Kurt gasped, when Jon began to toy with the waistband of Kurt’s jeans. “It’s so ... exposed.”

Kurt groaned, not missing the double meaning when Jon deftly unzipped his pants.

“I like exposed,” Jon said, his dark hair tickling Kurt’s face as he whispered into his ear. “I wanna suck you so bad.”

“Oh.” Kurt briefly thought of his last blowjob (a very sweet break-up gift), and his toes curled in his shoe boots. It took all his willpower to say, “That’s nice, but, ah ... maybe we shouldn’t be so obvious.” He cleared his throat. “Or, you know. Do anything.”

“Just let me jerk you off,” Jon begged. “Let me feel you.”

Screw willpower. Kurt rolled his hips, arching into Jon’s touch. “If anyone asks,” he groaned. “You’re unsticking my fly.”

“Oh, I can do that,” Jon laughed, deep and delicious, hand diving into Kurt’s pants. Kurt thanked his lucky stars and a sprinkling of baby powder that he wasn’t wearing underwear as Jon’s broad hand wrapped around his dick. He turned his head, cheek pressed against the cool, dirty wall. What was left of his brain reminded him that looking at Jon was a little overwhelming, and at least this way he might not come the instant Jon began to move his hand in slow, even strokes.

This way, however, seemed to make Jon’s presence as electric as his eyes. He leaned into Kurt, strong jaw pressed against Kurt’s cheek as he hummed in satisfaction. “You feel so good,” he whispered into Kurt’s ear, “so hard for me,” and Kurt moaned, hips trying to move, though Jon was pressed into him so close it was difficult.

Jon was tall, slightly taller than Kurt. Maybe only a little shorter than Sebastian, and he groaned -- being pressed up against the closet by his roommate would be like this, maybe with a hand over his mouth to keep quiet given the paper-thin walls of the dorm, that weird cactus Sebastian kept on his desk rattling in its plant pot, and--.

“God, you’re so eager,” Jon chuckled as Kurt gave a particularly loud moan, his cock twitching.

_Shit._

What had _that_ been? Thinking of Sebastian should be a turn-off. Like, like grandparents, or Sarah McLachlan commercials. Sure, Sebastian was attractive ... to people who weren’t Kurt. And maybe to the blind. Yeah. Kurt shook his head, half-forgetting Jon’s hands were still on him, and turned the move into a slightly awkward kiss that got deep and dirty quickly. He was here with Jon the Gorgeous. No more thinking of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

“God, Kurt,” Jon groaned. “Your voice is so _hot_.”

“Ooh, yes,” Kurt responded with a gasp, and reached up to cling to Jon’s broad shoulders. “Can ... can you?”

Kurt was sure his face flushed redder than it already was, and tried not to let his voice hitch in tune to the rhythm of Jon’s strokes. He couldn’t get the words out, and began to tug pointedly downwards on Jon’s lovely shoulders.

“Down,” Kurt finally managed. “Do you have a ...?”

Jon nodded. His hand slipped off Kurt’s cock for one sad moment before he was down on his knees, looking up at Kurt with gorgeous blue eyes and opening the condom, rolling it on. Kurt waited for self-consciousness to return (wasn’t this _not mattering_?) but … well. Gorgeous guy on his knees, curling his hot, sweat-slick hand around Kurt. Jon winked, ran his tongue up the length of Kurt’s cock, then wrapped his mouth around it and sank down. _Dear god_ , Kurt thought. He hoped he didn’t embarrass himself because Jon was no novice.

In the end, he didn’t. As he returned the favour, Kurt rationalised that he’d been safe; nobody had been harmed in the process. Even better than that: not only had he fooled around with Sebastian’s sure thing, but said sure thing at one point moaned out that Kurt was _“the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”_ Despite the sweat pooling down in places that he’d have to wash rather thoroughly, and the fact that a guy he was only on first name terms had just blown him in a dirty, dirty alley outside a trashy gay club? It was _amazing_. It helped that he didn’t think of Sebastian again.

After they were done, he shot Jon a bashful grin as he wiped the spit from his mouth, and walked back into the club. Sebastian wasn’t to be found, though, despite the DJ playing a Michael Jackson remix. That could only mean one thing. Checking his phone, Sebastian’s hook up with yet another _sure thing_ was as predictable as a Shakespearean actor reading _Fifty Shades of Grey_ or Lady Gaga lyrics out loud for the entertainment of talk show hosts.

Kurt ordered a cab back to his dorm, grinning all the while.

\----

“So,” Sebastian said the following morning, as he took his usual seat at the foot of Kurt’s bed. He had a glass of orange liquid in each hand. He handed one to Kurt, who took a sniff, peering curiously over the rim. “That’s not poisoned, you know,” Sebastian said, then snatched the glass away and took a sip.

Kurt pulled it back, sniffed again -- no alarming almond-like smells detected -- then took a sip. _Hm_. He took another sip, only to splutter. He narrowed his eyes at Sebastian. “I guess our definitions of poison are different. I don’t drink cognac.” Kurt peered around at the clock. “Especially at one in the afternoon.”

“It’s practically happy hour, you joyless slug.” Sebastian put the second glass of orange down and got up. He walked over to his nightstand, extracting the bottle of Courvoisier and a glass tumbler. He took a small sip quickly, licking his lips afterward as if _enjoying_ the aftertaste, before sitting back down on Kurt’s bed. “Although cognac is wasted on you. That’s a Screwdriver, and I’m hoping if I get you a little buzzed, you’ll tell me about last night.”

“I don’t _need_ to be buzzed to do that,” Kurt said, taking another sip of his drink despite the time of day and the company. Sebastian set his glass down, elbow resting on his knee in a Thinker pose. He looked oddly interested, his usual laconic air tampered. “See, last night came before this night. It was part of this week. This week had seven days, and some of those days are named after Norse gods, some after things in the sky, and--”

“And _that’s_ why you don’t have any friends,” Sebastian said. “I mean what happened at the club? What did you do with that guy?”

“Oh, you mean _your_ sure thing?” Kurt laughed as Sebastian scowled, and took another sip of his Screwdriver, hoping the rim of the glass might hide his faint blush. Of course, the glass was translucent, which put a damper on that plan. Sebastian’s scowl morphed into a smirk.

“So something happened?” Sebastian reached up and wiped away an imaginary tear. “Aw, Hummel’s all grown up.”

“I’m not -- I wasn’t -- I’m not a virgin, alright?” Kurt retorted. “And no, nothing happened.”

“ _Really_.” Sebastian leaned forward, close enough for Kurt to smell the cognac on his breath. “Please, enlighten me, how _did_ you spend those long minutes outside the club?”

“Oh, we just talked.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ... jealous?”

“Of Sean?”

“Jon,” Kurt reminded him.

“Jon,” Sebastian continued. “I don’t catch names. I only really care that they’re moaning _mine_.” He snorted. “And no. Why would I be jealous? I had a sure _r_ thing the moment you two went to _talk_. What did you talk about, anyway? Two for ones on coloured contact lenses?”

“No. Just, you know, the usual.” Kurt set his glass aside, making busy work on with the notes he had spread in front of him. “All-time favourite Oprah guests. Equality marches. Stacy and Clinton’s never-changing wardrobe for the middle-aged moms on their show. How to properly baste a duck.”

“Coming from you, I almost believe it.” Sebastian made an odd, squinty face. “Almost.” Oh, that was suspicion. It seemed the robot had more than “fuck” and “mock” programmed into him.

“Even if something _did_ happen, I wouldn’t tell you,” Kurt said tilting his chin up. “Some of us like to keep our liaisons _private_.”

“Ah,” Sebastian said. “A lady never kisses and tells, right?”

“Hmph.”

“Anyways, it can’t have been _that_ private. We were at a club.”

“It was as private as it could be.”

“So you _are_ admitting to doing something, George Michael?”

“I admit to nothing.” One of Kurt’s legs was out from under the blanket, and he lightly kicked at Sebastian. “Now go away.”

Sebastian grabbed Kurt’s leg, broad hand warm and a bit rough against Kurt’s ankle. He didn’t release it immediately though, as Kurt would expect with Sebastian’s frequent disgust with him, but held on. The soft brush of his fingertips against the dip of Kurt’s anklebone made him shiver. Kurt stared at the contact, then his eyes were dragging up Sebastian’s body to look him in the face. He met Sebastian’s eyes, and the spell broke. Sebastian dropped his ankle and stood up abruptly, narrowly avoiding slamming his head against the low-set shelves above Kurt’s bed.

Kurt watched him, ignoring the fluttery sensation in his stomach (probably indigestion from his breakfast waffle), and cocked a brow. “What? You’re actually going to listen to me, for once?”

“For once,” Sebastian muttered, and then he was out the door and gone. Kurt blinked, following the line of Sebastian’s back as his roommate retreated.

What was wrong with _him_?

\----

Suddenly, exams smashed into them like Anna Dello Russo into a fashion event. Kurt was suddenly spending time in the library with his fellow harried students, and actually learned what ISBNs were for. The notes that had served him so well through assignments up until then seemed full of holes now, and Kurt was perhaps starting to panic a bit. It didn’t help that Sebastian’s competitive nature now evolved into him bragging that he didn’t need to study to pass his exams with flying colours.

_“Well, not actual flying colours. That’s a bit too queer for me.”_

Kurt could have easily followed through on his initial threat to smother his roommate.

Despite his worries, Kurt found that once he was in the exam room he remembered everything and could fill out multiple choice, fill-in-the-blanks, and essay questions with ease. It was like being back on stage, and Kurt realized with a start that past theater class exercises, and singing Skype dates with Rachel and Blaine, he had not really been performing since going to college. Maybe it hadn’t felt quite right without his Glee friends around him, but he missed it, and he resolved that next term he would get back to it.

After his final exam as he was finishing his packing, he expressed this to Sebastian, who snorted.

“Uh-huh. Have fun performing _A Doll’s House_ with hand puppets or whatever other inane project the school puts on.”

“With that creativity, you think your insults could be sharper.”

“Hn.” Sebastian sat on Kurt’s bed next to a pile of clothes to be packed, staring at Kurt intently. “Sharp as your weird little nose?”

“Oh, you’re going to say _I’m_ angular?” Kurt gave Sebastian a once over, strictly business of course. “Why did you go as something else for Halloween, I wonder, when you’re practically a skeleton already?”

Sebastian raised a brow. “I didn’t go as anything for Halloween?” He clearly knew Kurt was building up to something, but couldn’t resist playing along, it seemed. Kurt supposed that was his outrageous ego at work.

“So you mean that the ‘bargain basement Macklemore-esque douchebag’ look was _unintentional_?” Kurt clutched a shawl to his chest. “Now I feel silly.”

“It’s okay.” Sebastian gave him a single, condescending pat to the thigh, fingertips lingering. “I know children under twelve are obsessed with dress-up.”

Kurt folded the shawl, setting it into his suitcase, and made sure to catch Sebastian on the upswing of the sweater he picked up next. Sebastian leaned away. “I didn’t know you were such an expert with kids. You should see about becoming a mall Santa.”

“Only if you’re my elf. I’m sure you’d love to wear tights and a skirt.” Sebastian grinned.

“Tunic, Sebastian.” Kurt came across one of his skirts then, and told Sebastian, “Besides, fashion has no gender.”

“It’s a feminine noun,” Sebastian said, grin widening. “But speaking of …”

“Finally willing to experiment?” Kurt asked, waving the skirt at Sebastian.

“No.” Sebastian jumped to his feet, which seemed a bit extreme even for him, but then he was crossing the room to his nightstand and pulling out a brown paper bag. “Speaking of _Santa_. I got you a Christmas gift.” His eyes were sparkling, not something Kurt thought those soulless pools capable of.

“Really?” Kurt eyed the bag, which bulged a little and had a strange, musky odor. Maybe he should call a bomb squad. “That better not be a barf bag from after you looked in the mirror.”

“I get you a present, and you can’t keep your mouth shut.” Sebastian threw the bag to Kurt, then crossed his arms. “Typical.”

“Don’t start.” Kurt said, giving the bag another sniff. He opened the bag and peered in, not willing to stick his hand in without checking first. He wouldn’t have put it past Sebastian to stick a mousetrap in there. Instead, there was a bottle of -- “Cognac?” Kurt pulled it out, and spotted something else. “A cigar?”

“I’m hoping they’ll jump start your testosterone,” Sebastian explained. “I even threw in a cigar clipper so you have no reason to avoid it.” There was indeed one, rather handsome and set with amber.

“Yes, because that’s the only reason I wouldn’t want to look like I was auditioning for a grumpy newspaper editor with a secret heart of gold.” Kurt dropped the bottle back in and pulled out the clipper. “But, I could repurpose this into a brooch …”

“My god, he’s done it.” Sebastian stumbled back, shaking his head. “He’s out-gayed me. He’s out-gayed everyone. He’s hit critical gay.”

“Funny how you think _this_ is critical gay and not like, say, swapping blow--” Kurt froze. He hadn’t wanted to clarify that to Sebastian. He’d been enjoying watching Sebastian stew in his curiosity.

“Swapping blow? I knew you couldn’t honestly afford your clothes.” Sebastian laughed, then stilled as well. “Hold on -- Is that what you did with Jam--”

“ _Jon.”_

“You actually did that?” Sebastian squinted. “Really?”

“I’m saying nothing.”

“Really. _You?”_

“Nothing.”

“Come on,” Sebastian wheedled. “Tell me.”

“My lips are sealed, so--”

“Obviously they _weren’t._ ” Sebastian’s look was burning as it took in Kurt’s face, as if evidence would be there. “I can’t believe this. I thought you just gave him some virginal little kisses.”

Now it was Kurt’s turn for disbelief. “First off, I’m not a virgin, and second, why are you getting so worked up about this?”

“I’m not getting worked _up_ about this,” Sebastian rolled his shoulders, arms folding again, brows starting to furrow. “I’m just -- surprised.”

“Surprised?” Kurt’s tongue pressed against his upper lip for a moment as he thought this over. Sebastian was still staring hotly. “I know you think I’m about as appealing as -- I don’t know, Boo Radley in a tutu -- but here’s a newsflash, Sebastian: my sexy faces may need work but that doesn’t mean people don’t find me sexy.”

“I knew that,” Sebastian muttered, then groaned. “Some people have bad taste. And apparently you let them get their fill. Clearly, that’s your business.”

“Yes, it is, so why are we even having this conversation?” Kurt rolled his eyes. “You’re acting jealous. Over _me_. Which should be a hint to how ridiculous this is.”

Wait. Could he --

“A hint” Sebastian’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t know you had an ego with that sanctimonious attitude. Now _that_ isn’t attractive.” He began to stalk toward the door. “I’ve got a date to get to. Don’t smoke the cigar; it’ll just blow out your ass.”

He slammed the door on the way out.

Kurt, bewildered, carefully set his Christmas gift down. What had _that_ been? He’d had an inkling, but no, that was ridiculous. Sebastian wasn’t another Karofsky -- he was definitely not closeted, and if he wanted Kurt, he would have gone for it. Kurt had walked in on enough proof of this theory, and the scarring to his retinas still hadn’t cleared up.

“Weird,” he muttered. Then, taking in the brown paper bag, he considered if he had time to run down to the campus store and grab something small for Sebastian. His roommate’s thoughts may be confusing for a normal person to discern, but he’d clearly chosen a gift with thought. Kurt would simply return the favour, and stop thinking up silly theories that always seemed to get him into trouble.

\-----

Kurt left school without seeing Sebastian again, leaving behind a carefully wrapped package bearing a pack of pens and a golf headcover with their school logo and a generic “Merry Christmas” card.

At Christmas, Kurt got a text from Sebastian. It read: _In paris for new years. dont be too jealous. ;)_  -- from the casual bragging to the inappropriate winking face, it was as if nothing had happened.

Kurt supposed his gift had worked to smooth things over, and simply texted back:

_Merry Christmas and happy New Years, Sebastian_

\-----

“So who kissed you at midnight?”

They were back from the holidays. Kurt was reorganizing his half of the room after unpacking; Sebastian had gotten in earlier and left, so they hadn’t crossed paths in their grand central station of beige until just then. Kurt gave a huff as he saw Sebastian was wearing sunglasses, a leather bomber, and seemed like he was still working through his festivities.

“Well most of the gang was in town, so we got together. Blaine was in Baja though, and there’s nobody else I could kiss.” Kurt sighed. “My lips were only on the rim of my red solo cup.”

“I fill you up,” Sebastian half-sang. “ _Dirty_.”

“Nice to see you’re in good spirits.” Kurt tacked up his last Christmas card on his board.

“I was enjoying good spirits all break,” Sebastian said. “Christmas is the best holiday.”

“Because of the booze, not the love of your fellow man, I’m guessing.”

“Oh trust me, I was loving my fellow man _all day_.” Sebastian tipped his sunglasses down just so he could wink. Kurt snorted.

“All day? That might chafe a bit.”

“Like _you_ would know.”

“I told you, I’m not a virgin.” Kurt recited, unable to help a smirk. Sebastian chuckled as he slid his jacket and sunglasses off, throwing them on his table.

“You’re in a good mood too, hm.” Sebastian nodded resolutely, taking his seat on Kurt’s bed. “Did you make a resolution to be less of a stick in the mud?”

“Only to try and limit to my whole cheesecake consumption to once a month.” Kurt rubbed his stomach. Sebastian’s eyes followed the movement, and inexplicably flustered, Kurt snatched his hand away. “You?”

“I decided to be a better friend and son. Put ill wills behind me. Move worms off the sidewalk. Donate to charity more. Give toys to orphans, pet more puppies. Go to church more.” Sebastian pressed his hands together as if in prayer.

Kurt laughed. “I’ve ... missed you, Sebastian.”

“Yeah? You _have_ gotten soft.”

“Well, in the sense that I missed this room too, even if being inside it makes me dream of drowning in oatmeal.” Kurt glanced with distaste at the walls. “Are you _sure_ I couldn’t paint it?”

“I think they’d notice. Besides, you’d probably do it up in chartreuse or periwinkle or some other fruity color.” Sebastian shuddered. “ _I’d_ dream of drowning in sorbet.”

“Your underrating of my taste is a continuing tragedy,” Kurt said. “But I suppose I’ll have to carry on.”

“Yes you will.” Sebastian leaned forward. “I’m starving. What do you think of me, you, and ordering a pizza?”

“Me, you, and ordering a thin-crust, goat cheese pizza.”

“Me, you, and a thin-crust meat supreme pizza, cheddar.”

“Me, you, a thin-crust cheddar pizza, ground beef and peppers.”

“Fine.” Sebastian dug into his pocket and came out with his phone. “Me, you, splitting the bill by the way.”

“Naturally.” Kurt went for his wallet, and before long they were sitting on the floor (Kurt with bonus pillow because who knew the horrors that carpet had absorbed, from Sebastian alone no less) and arguing over slices of pizza.

It was … comfortable.

\----

Kurt dived into the new term eagerly, signing up for auditions to a variety of school performance (musical and otherwise) and getting callbacks, eventually landing a sizeable role in _Sweeney Todd_. That took up time that wasn’t spent in classes, doing homework, going out with friends, Skype dates with old friends, puzzling out the mystery of the missing pillow pet, having nights in where he ate snack food and watched musicals, and most challenging: handling Sebastian. His roommate was as caustic as ever, but quite upbeat, and had settled into two modes: avoid Kurt at all costs, or verbal sparring. That was normal.

There were also little things that stuck out to Kurt, but he decided it was too stupid to contemplate them long.

Like, near the end of January:

Kurt was in one of the communal showers, towel around his waist but otherwise naked. He’d set his shower basket on the floor and was setting his shampoo and conditioner on the ledge when the curtain behind him rustled. With an “Occupied!” on his tongue Kurt spun around, only to see the hideous once-white curtain had been pulled open and Sebastian was on the other side, blinking blearily.

That was when Kurt’s towel decided to drop.

With a shriek, Kurt grabbed at it, holding it up one handed while the other waved off Sebastian. For his part, Sebastian only stared, as if his gaze was fused to Kurt’s bare skin.

“Get _out_!” Kurt hissed, reddening, wishing he had the shower basket in hand to chuck at Sebastian but not wanting to risk turning around.

“I--” Sebastian shook his head. “Sorry.” He was still staring at the way Kurt’s blush ran down his neck when Kurt yanked the curtain shut. Kurt listened to Sebastian shuffle away -- leaving the bathroom entirely, oddly -- then sank onto the edge of the tub and waited for his heart to stop racing.

That must have been from the scare, was all.

\-----

Then it was February, and Kurt found a new email each day from Blaine entitled “14 Days Till Valentine’s” “13 Days Till Valentine’s” “12 Days Till Valentine’s” and so on, containing only cheesy e-cards about love, cheesy poems about love, and pictures of hot guys with abs to love. (Blaine really got Kurt.) Sebastian had decided to celebrate the holiday by doing his own countdown, where he worked his way through a new guy every night. 

“What happens when you run out?” Kurt asked, as Sebastian stood in front of the mirror, smearing his hair back with gel in anticipation of a date. Honestly, did nobody know how to style their hair these days?

“I buy more. There are these things called stores these days …”

“I mean of boys. What happens then?” Kurt gave a pat to his own hair to draw attention to how much better it looked than Sebastian’s. “You don’t do repeats, do you?”

Sebastian frowned, setting his comb down. “It’s not like I draw Xs on them to remind me I’ve tapped it. What happens happens.”

“Oh come on,” Kurt said. “You can’t act like you forget them. I’ve heard you brag one too many times about your conquests.” Like a month ago, in the middle of a class, Sebastian had leaned over and written “3 ROWS AHEAD BLUE SWEATER, MOANS LIKE A HOWLER MONKEY” over Kurt’s notes. It made studying hard, and not just because Kurt noted that Sebastian was using one of the pens Kurt got him for Christmas.

“Well.” Sebastian shrugged, resuming his combing. “I have a problem, you see.”

“I could have told you that.”

“The problem is that I’m just _so good,_ nobody else compares.” Sebastian smirked. “Most guys aren’t worth repeats.”

“Most guys? So there must have been at least one.”

“At least one,” Sebastian agreed, voice taking on its rare quality of fondness. Then it was over, as he winked at himself in the mirror and set his comb down. Kurt was surprised he didn’t add finger guns. “There.”

“No, not _there_.” Kurt grabbed the comb in annoyance. “Here.” He grabbed Sebastian at the shoulder, right near his neck, pulling him down to a more reasonable height. Sebastian squawked in surprise and tried to smack Kurt away until Kurt pointed the comb at him threateningly. “Stay still, or this will hurt.”

“Christ, Hummel, is this a bad porno?” Sebastian muttered, but didn’t move as Kurt brought the comb to his hair and dragged it through.

“Just let me fix this,” Kurt retorted, and pulled the comb through again, a bit harder because Sebastian was an ass. He faltered as he swore he felt Sebastian give the briefest of shivers beneath Kurt’s warm grip on him, but continued on resolutely. “It won’t take long.”

It didn’t, because Sebastian’s hair was surprisingly manageable (but not all touchable looking, of course not) and soon Kurt was done. “ _There_ ,” he parroted with satisfaction. He looked to see how Sebastian was taking this improvement, and found their faces were startlingly close together. Sebastian was looking at him as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

Kurt let him go, pointing to the mirror. “See? Much better. You could use a haircut though. Want me to find a stylist for you? I can do it while you’re out … Yeah.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Like you can talk. Aren’t you worried giraffes will try to graze off that hedge you call a hairstyle?”

“Like there any nearby. Unless you’re finally admitting you’re not human.”

Sebastian snorted.

“If I’m not, something _really_ kinky is going to happen tonight.”

“Please, Sebastian, I’d hate to vomit on you after you picked out a halfway-decent outfit.”

“Halfway-decent? Coming from you, that means a lot.” Sebastian began to tug at his shirt. “As in, I’ve got to change.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still questioning the other half.” Kurt waved a hand. “Can you leave? I’m scheduled to be a long-distance guest on _Fondue for Two_ tonight.”

“Fondue for _what_?” Sebastian pulled a face. “Something really kinky _is_ going to happen tonight.”

“It’s an interview webshow!”

“Ah, naturally.” Sebastian began to retreat for the door, grabbing his bomber and keys. “After all, why would you be doing something dirty?”

“I’m not a virgin!” Kurt protested. He thought they’d moved past this. With a jaunty grin, Sebastian left, and Kurt retreated to his laptop and Skype. He then _maybe_ spent more time complaining to Brittany about his roommate than was acceptable, but at least there was video proof out there that Kurt didn’t think much of Sebastian.

\----

Early Valentine’s morning Kurt awoke to a solid weight pressed against his side. Sleepily blinking sunlight out of his eyes (Sebastian _still_ insisted on open windows and blinds) he tried to remember what he had done the night before. Because that was definitely another person in his bed, and normally there was some kind of oh-so-memorable preamble to that sort of thing. He glanced over at who was on his other pillow, and was greeted with the sight of Sebastian.

Kurt’s heart skipped a beat, and he groaned. How typical of Sebastian. Not content with making Kurt’s bed his seat, he had apparently decided that stumbling drunkenly to the other side of the room and his own bed for sleep was too much trouble.

Sebastian shifted, grunting a bit, and Kurt became hyper-focused on the fact that Sebastian’s hand was draped across his midsection. Heat radiated from the touch, sinking deep into Kurt’s skin and making it feel a little too tight, a little too sensitive. Every deep inhale only moved Sebastian’s hand, and Kurt switched to shallow breaths, a pattern which only sounded like sex noises in his ears. With horror, he realized he was half-hard.

It was just morning wood, Kurt reassured himself. Happened to plenty of guys.

Sebastian decided to prove this by rolling over, hand sliding forward and curling around Kurt’s side while his hips pressed up against Kurt’s thigh. And that was -- yes, definitely, that was Sebastian’s dick.

Kurt took a deep breath, ignoring the feel of Sebastian’s toned forearm resting across his stomach, and let it out slowly. Then, with practiced breath control, he shouted as loud as he could: “Wake _up!_ ”

Next door there was a thump, muffled swear, then a fist pounded on their wall. Kurt winced, and checked to see Sebastian was groaning as his face scrunched up. “ _Sebastian_ ,” Kurt hissed, using his arm that wasn’t being leaned on to smack him.

Sebastian woke up, squinting at Kurt. “What?” He blinked. “Kurt? What -- are you in my bed?”

Kurt scowled. Was Sebastian getting _harder_? Nothing embarrassed the guy, clearly. Kurt, meanwhile, was starting to feel hot around the ears. “You’re in _mine_.” Kurt grabbed at Sebastian's clinging hand, trying to throw it off him as Sebastian processed this.

Suddenly Sebastian rolled away, hitting the edge of the bed and trying to throw his long legs over the side and get to his feet. However he ended up tangled in the duvet, and promptly fell over. Kurt laughed despite himself, heart rate finally cooling a bit. With care, he rolled over on his side, making sure his sheets were bunched up in front of his stupidly uncooperative penis.

“Very graceful.”

“Shut up.” Sebastian groaned again, getting to his feet and throwing the duvet at Kurt. “I have to shower. Chemical peel.”

“I have to burn my beddings,” Kurt retorted, bundling the duvet up and rolling on top of it, so he had a better angle to glare at Sebastian at. (And politely not look below his waist.) “And I always thought _your_ bed was the only one that needed to be purged.”

“Do that,” Sebastian advised, tugging his t-shirt forward a bit, eyebrows knitted a bit as he glanced down. “And then throw yourself onto the fire.”

“So I can look like I have your--” Kurt watched as Sebastian stalked out the room, not even grabbing his towel or soap. “Skin condition …?” The door closed with finality. Kurt huffed. Sebastian normally let him finish.

Kurt flopped down onto his back, and was relieved to find his problem had lessened quite a bit. He’d hate to have to rush off to a shower … like Sebastian … Kurt considered that, biting his lip. Was Sebastian doing that right then? Leaning back against the shower wall under the hot spray, skin flushed and wet, practiced hand sliding along slick skin to wrap around his cock, stroking with a tight grip, maybe thinking of --

Kurt snatched his hand up from where it had been wandering down.

“Shower.” He stumbled out of bed quickly. “Cold. Shower.”

(He ended up going down a floor in the dorm, to avoid the bathroom Sebastian was using.)

\-----

Finally, rehearsals for _Sweeney Todd_ had been cancelled, and Kurt and Sebastian were both able to find some time in their busy schedules to practice golf. Or, in Kurt’s case, learn golf. Which was more than necessary, given that it was the beginning of March, and the tournament was only in another week. Sure, Kurt had listened as patiently as he could while Sebastian explained the rules and tools of the game, but he seemed to have skipped the important facts, such as why the clubs had different numbers. It wasn’t like you could organize them in that bag, so what was the point?

Knowing March weather could be inclement, Kurt had layered up for the occasion, but it had turned out to be a warm day. The course was, Kurt grudgingly admitted, tranquil. Golf really _was_ a game for the dignified -- there were carts which would ferry Kurt to the next hole if he even suspected a bead of sweat on his perfectly-groomed brow, and for the more proficient players, there were caddies with damp, high thread-count towels.

That didn’t ameliorate all of the effects of the not-so-great outdoors, however.

“Ugh,” Kurt said, wiggling his toes in his specially-ordered Oliver Sweeney golf shoes. “You expect me to _touch_ that?” He raised his hand in the air and clicked his fingers. “Caddy!”

“One, they’re not waiters,” Sebastian said, mouth curving into a smile. “Two, you’re gay. So, if you can’t deal with handling dirty balls, you should probably reconsider that. Three, there are no caddies here because it is eleven o’clock at night.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t _asked_ to break in after hours, but apparently Sebastian's dad knew the owner. It seemed prudent, to save himself from embarrassment. In any case, he was mostly preoccupied with wondering if what Sebastian was wearing was _normal_ for golf. Judging by the way Blaine dressed, Kurt had assumed it was a game brimming with Brooks Brothers and class. Sebastian was wearing dark brown chinos which were _far_ too tight and made him look like some sort of predatory gay spider. It also honestly looked like his American Lit teacher had contracted food poisoning and somehow ralphed a vest-shaped splat of argyle casserole down an innocent navy sweater.

Of course, Kurt had dressed impeccably, from brogue-encased feet to his herringbone trilby. The fashion was the only thing he’d had to look forward to about the whole debacle.

“Golf is a sport about focus,” Sebastian said, handing a golf ball to Kurt. “Do you see that ball?”

“As I haven’t gone blind from constant masturbation like you, yes, I see it.” The ball was pretty much what Kurt imagined, though perhaps a little lighter, with _Titleist_ written across it.

“I know God says good kids don’t, but you should try it sometime Temperance,” Sebastian returned, handing Kurt a club. It was the one that had been wearing the golf sock Kurt got Sebastian. “Point is, that ball is what you’ll focus on, and this club is what you’ll use to channel that focus.”

“I don’t get it.”

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I know shaft and balls are unfamiliar subjects for you, but this isn’t rocket science.”

“I am _not_ a virgin.” Kurt jabbed at Sebastian with the club handle; he dodged. “Or a girl? I’m not really sure which way that insult of yours was intended to go.”

“Both,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “I like to cover my bases.”

“I bet you do,” Kurt scoffed. “Now that you got that out of your system, can you please give me _practical_ instructions?”

“These _are_ practical. Any idiot can whack a ball with a stick. What makes you good is the ability to make the sport something more.” When Kurt rolled his eyes, Sebastian grabbed the club back. “Tell me, do you want to learn or not? I have a party I could be at.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Kurt grabbed the club back, giving Sebastian a look. “I’m listening. Intense focus. I can do that. What next?”

“Picture the hole.” A small smirk flitted across Sebastian’s face, and Kurt made a noise of disgust.

“Really, Sebastian? Are we twelve?”

“Judging by your face, I’d say you are.”

“No wonder you hang out with me, it must be nice to feel like you’re with your peers.”

“Now there’s a mouthful. I didn’t know you could manage those with that gummy grin of yours.”

“Obviously that’s why I hang out with _you_ , since you can’t be more than a mouthful.”

“Now who’s mature?”

“Still not you.”

“Are you going to hit the damn ball?”

“You hadn’t gotten to that part yet, O Wise Mentor.” Kurt let the ball drop, nudging it away with his foot. “If we’re not still stuck on visualizing the goal ...”

“Go ahead,” Sebastian said, examining his nails. “Though you might want to put a tee under there. Unless that’s too difficult for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Kurt accepted the tee that Sebastian held out, and jabbed it into the ground. With it all set up, he took his first swing. The ball went somewhere into the woods and Kurt winced. “Hm.”

“You call that managing?” Sebastian laughed. “You’re not gripping the club right. Watch this.” Sebastian pulled his own club from the bag, and showed the way he positioned his hands and the swinging motion. There was something very graceful about the arc of his body and the way the muscles in his arms moved, and Kurt found himself entranced as Sebastian repeated the motion, slowing down so Kurt could track every part of the swing and follow through.

He was so ... fluid.

Wait, _what_? Kurt shook his head clear. This was Sebastian, who looked like a CW refugee on a bad diet and was about as graceful as a stork. Kurt wasn’t going to … _ogle_ him. He had had some weak moments before but he refused to give in; he wanted to maintain a modicum of taste.

“Try again,” Sebastian ordered. “Without the ball. Those things cost more than the nosejob you’re bound to get one day.”

“You would know all about cosmetic surgery, right?” Kurt did the swing again, trying to mimic the way Sebastian had drawn back and followed through. “I hope you sued the doctor after you looked in the mirror.”

“I’m one hundred percent natural beef,” Sebastian said. “And you’re one hundred percent natural loser. You can’t even get the basics.”

“I’m doing it!” Kurt swung his club again pointedly.

“No, you’re not.” Sebastian approached him. “Here, let me.” Before Kurt could protest that he didn’t want Sebastian’s diseased digits on him, Sebastian’s hands were on him, adjusting his grip. Kurt’s breath caught at the proximity of Sebastian, face not set in his usual sneer, but rather focused on the way he was shifting Kurt’s hold. His touch was very warm and his hands were very big. Kurt remembered that touch on his legs, his stomach, and then mentally beat those thoughts with a club.

“There,” Sebastian stepped back, and Kurt told himself he did not miss the touch. “Now try it.” Kurt did, and though the grip felt awkward he admitted his arc seemed more like what Sebastian had done. After making Kurt repeat it a few more times, he allowed Kurt to try with a golf ball, threatening that “if this one goes into the woods too you’re going after it.” Kurt contemplated the dark underbrush, and decided he wasn’t going anywhere near that unless he was disposing of Sebastian’s body.

“Hit from between the two red markers,” Sebastian said, pointing a little ahead of them. “It’s the woman’s tee, so it’s perfect for you.”

“And a sport with names like _that_ is perfect for _you_ ,” Kurt said, moving back to the white markers. “Tell me Sebastian, did your mother spank you too much as a child?”

“At least my mom is around to spank me,” Sebastian retorted. Kurt laughed under his breath, leaving it up to Sebastian to draw insulting conclusions out of that himself. Instead of replying he set up his tee and ball, taking a few moments to line up the shot but unnerved by the way he could _feel_ Sebastian staring at him, and swung. His shot did not go into the woods, but it didn’t go very far and was sort of to the right.

“It didn’t go into the woods,” Kurt pointed out to a laughing Sebastian. Sebastian waggled his golf club at Kurt in a way that seemed both oddly sexual and overbearingly ridiculous.

“That’s right, it didn’t. That would imply you have upper arm strength.”

“I put the first one in there,” Kurt retorted, and nearly flexed his arm at Sebastian. What stopped him was not the sheer immaturity of the act, but the fact that it was the sort of immature act Sebastian did on a regular basis. “And I’m sure I have enough upper arm strength to strangle you.”

“Nice, tight grip?” Sebastian asked, as he stooped to stick his tee in the ground. Kurt directed his gaze up to the heavens.

“Oh, yes,” Kurt replied, voice dipped in sarcasm. “I’ve had no complaints.”

“Who is there to complain about it?”

“I am _not_ a virgin.”

“Keep saying it, and one day it might come true,” Sebastian said with a wink, and began to line up his shot. Kurt, curious as to whether Sebastian was actually good or not, bit his tongue to not distract him. That sort of thing could be saved for later. Much to his dismay, Sebastian took what seemed like ages to actually hit the ball, and much to his horror Sebastian did well. The ball sailed in a high, clean, straight arc, landing so far away in the dark that Kurt lost sight of it.

“Lucky shot,” Kurt muttered.

“When I win this game, you get to polish my trophies,” Sebastian said.

“I pray that’s not an euphemism.”

“You’re not the only one. Come on, let’s see how much better I did than you.”

They continued to play like this, Kurt sinking his first ball after eight strokes, Sebastian in three on the first hole. From there on Kurt didn’t really improve -- and if you asked Sebastian, only got worse -- while Sebastian knocked each one out of the park. Wait, was he mixing up his sports metaphors?

And as Kurt lined up his shot on the sixth and managed to whack his ball _and_ tee into the air and into the rough, he had to admit there actually _was_ something ( _one_ thing, only _one_ ) Sebastian could do more proficiently.

“It’s not a boomerang,” Sebastian said. “It’s not going to come back if you stare hard enough.”

“It’s midnight! I can’t see. And despite that awful song you sang at karaoke last time, you certainly _cannot_ light up the sky.”

“Which is why I brought a flashlight.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to have brought a _FleshLight_ ,” Kurt said, through gritted teeth. “Why on earth did you bring _green_ tees to a golf course when we’re playing in the _dark_! For someone who says he’s always prepared, you’re utterly shortsighted.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said, gesturing to Kurt’s bag. “I’m not shortsighted all.” He then gestured into the woods. “Now are you going to let me take this shot, and go and retrieve the ball? I’m also timing you, because any longer than five minutes and I’ll assume you’re jerking off in the woods pretending to be Bella Swan.”

With that Sebastian went up to go himself with another one of his perfect hits (Kurt wrinkled his nose) and Kurt had to go find another tee. The ball could be abandoned; if Sebastian complained Kurt would just promise to do his laundry.

Kurt was about to politely ask if he could borrow a new ball and tee until he got a hold of himself. God, he couldn't be nice to Sebastian now, not when things were going so well. Confident that Sebastian was busy taking his usual five minutes to line up the damn shot, Kurt snuck over to Sebastian’s bag and unzipped one of the pockets, reaching in. His questing fingers did not hit golf balls or tees, however, but instead a square package. Pulling it out, Kurt found himself holding a condom. He rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"Really, Sebastian?" He asked waving the condom in his direction. Sebastian looked over, leaning on his club.

"I'm like a boy scout, Kurt. Always prepared," Sebastian said with a smirk. "Since I'm being so kind as to educate you, maybe I could show you how to put that on."

"I'm not a virgin," Kurt repeated, for what was certainly the millionth time, and Sebastian only snorted.

“Sure you aren’t.” Sebastian paused, and walked a little closer.

“You know I’ve done stuff.” Kurt eyed Sebastian. He was instantly suspicious of Sebastian playing obtuse too long. Kurt knew him too well by now to fall for that.

“But have you gone all the way?”

Kurt paused. “Yes?” Oh, being gay and not knowing exactly what that qualified.

Sebastian pounced on the slight hesitation.

“Guess what. I’ll give your total virginity the benefit of the doubt.” Sebastian smiled. “Consider it your birthday present. Now: prove it.”

“How?” Kurt propped his hands on his hips, condom still in hand. “I didn’t have the event documented and notarized.”

“The ‘event’?” Sebastian shook his head. “Did you write invitations?”

“Maybe,” Kurt muttered, then in a louder voice added, “And no need for plurals, Sebastian. We can’t all give up our virginity in a gangbang.”

“Of course not, Kurt,” Sebastian said condescendingly. “I know how hard a time you would have finding _one_ guy willing to take pity on you, let alone multiple.”

“Excuse you, but I seem to remember an incident in that tacky club you took me to where your _sure thing_ wanted me instead.” Kurt waved the condom in Sebastian’s face. “You wouldn’t have needed this then.”

Sebastian tried to snatch the condom away but Kurt was too fast for him, instead flicking it off the tip of Sebastian’s nose with a smirk. “Aw, is someone jealous?” He was playing with fire here; he hadn’t forgotten their fight before Christmas. But the way Sebastian kept _pushing_ ...

“No, _someone_ is annoyed about the ugly duckling stealing his shit,” Sebastian replied. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a klepto, Hummel.”

“I’m not, but _you’re_ a nympho. Maybe you need a support group.” Kurt seized the condom by two hands and started to twist. “I’m sure one of your steps would be destroying triggers.”

“Thanks for the lecture, Ted,” Sebastian replied, grabbing Kurt’s hand to stop him from tearing the foil package in half. “Don’t you have a porn site to run?”

“I can’t believe you made that reference!” Kurt was so surprised he let Sebastian take the condom. “What are you, a horny teenaged girl?”

“No, you’re the one who has that covered,” Sebastian said, tucking the condom into his pocket. Then he stopped for a second, considering where his hand still held Kurt’s, eyes sliding down Kurt’s body. “Want me to show you my abs so you can pretend I’m that werewolf while you jerk off?”

“Like your body is anywhere close to Taylor Lautner’s.” Sebastian dropped his hold of Kurt, taking this as a challenge, as he was wont to take most things. He lifted up his shirt; Kurt’s eyes flickered down, meandered back up, but he bit his lip and kept his expression unimpressed. “Passable. You can put down your shirt, Situation-wannabe.”

“You are _so_ trashy,” Sebastian said, as he pulled his shirt completely off. Kurt blinked rapidly.

“I'm trashy? When you just -- wait, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing,” Sebastian drawled, tossing the shirt over his golf bag. “Apparently you’re blind, so I have to extensively prove how hot my body is.”

“Oh my god, rest your ego! Does it really matter!” Kurt was caught between horror and embarrassment (on Sebastian’s idiotic behalf) looking around to make sure they were still alone and avoid the sight of Sebastian flexing his muscles and rubbing his abs. “Get your clothes back on, freak! You’re blinding me!”

Sebastian grinned. “Just admit I’m hot, Hummel, and I’ll put on a parka.” Kurt balked.

“No. Unlike you, I have standards. You won’t extort me into admitting something that’s patently untrue.”

“Well, if you want to play it that way.” Sebastian reached for his belt buckle next. Kurt cringed. “I’ll just keep stripping until you say it.”

“I could just walk away,” Kurt said, jerking up his chin and doing his best to keep his eyes on Sebastian’s face. It was annoyingly difficult.

“And I would follow you. Ever been stalked by a naked man?”

“I can’t believe you,” Kurt said, disgusted, eyes drawing along the broad line of Sebastian’s shoulders before snapping back up to his face. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Can’t fix perfection.” Sebastian tossed his belt away carelessly, and began to unbutton his fly. Kurt swallowed. He had an idea where this was going; Sebastian wasn’t exactly subtle. He told himself to turn away, to throw a clump of grass in Sebastian’s face or beat him over the head with a nine iron until he stopped doing -- _that_ \-- but he couldn’t move. He just stared, mouth a little dry and eyes wide as Sebastian shimmied his pants over his slim … _skinny_ … hips.

They fell to the ground around his ankles and Sebastian stepped out of them with a shift of his thighs that drew Kurt’s eyes down, down, down to his tight briefs. They were nice underwear, and Kurt appreciated nice underwear, and of course he wasn’t staring at the outline of Sebastian’s dick. That would be wrong. Oh so wrong.

“See something you like?” Sebastian purred.

“It’s hard to ignore it when you’ve already _rubbed_ it on me. _”_

“I was asleep.” Sebastian snapped the waistband of his underwear. “You were awake and noticed. Liked it, hmm?”

“ _No_.” Kurt crossed his arms. “You’re the one who liked it. I _knew_ you were into me.”

Kurt hadn’t been reading between lines that didn’t exist; if Sebastian Smythe was willing to do a striptease in the middle of a golf course for him then all those hot touches and lingering looks were real. A little voice in Kurt’s head pointed out that Kurt’s returned reactions were real too then, but he ruthlessly squashed it.

“Okay, sure, have your fantasies,” Sebastian replied, teasing grin in place. “I _know_ you’re enjoying this.” He nodded down at Kurt’s crotch as he he stooped to remove his shoes and socks. There was something about his back, the movement of his legs, the agility of his fingers as he undid the laces and Kurt _so_ appreciated people who didn’t just shove their shoes on and off and oh damn he was totally getting hard.

“Didn’t you want me to enjoy it?” Kurt asked, doing his best to remove his trilby in a casual fashion to hold in front of his erection. “Or are you going to find a pool of water to gaze into?”

“Wait.” Sebastian paused with his hands hovering over his briefs’ waistband. “Are you coming onto me? Or the hat?”

Kurt shot back: “Are you coming onto _me_?”

No more games; no more double talk. If, ridiculously, this _was_ real then Kurt was doing it right.

“Pretty much,” Sebastian said with a grin, fingers slipping underneath fabric, teasingly running them along the waistband. “My mother always did say I should do more charity work.”

“And mine always said I should give to charity,” Kurt said. He cocked an eyebrow, heart pounding in his ears as he traced every flex of Sebastian’s quite long and nicely shaped fingers.

“If you insist.”

With that, Sebastian pushed his briefs off. Kurt stared at what was yes, Sebastian’s cock, and it was there, peeking at him with its angry little eye. Kurt found this oddly intimidating, but it wasn’t like he _needed_ to get into a staring contest with Sebastian’s dick. Which did not, in fact, have the ability to see and hell Kurt wasn’t about to be scared off by one measly penis. So he stared. And stared. And stared.

“Hey bucko, my eyes are up here,” Sebastian said teasingly, taking a step forward. Kurt forced his eyes up, watching Sebastian approach. This was a different sort of staring contest; their gazes meeting was like oil crackling hotly on a pan, and Kurt exhaled slowly as Sebastian got closer and closer. Then Sebastian was there, practically right on top of him, and Kurt had to crane his head back a bit to keep on meeting his smoldering look.

Suddenly there were hands on his fly. Kurt froze, watching Sebastian’s oddly serious face as his belt was undone and dropped to the ground, his fly unzipped. He reached up, forearm pressed against Sebastian’s, half-gripping his elbow. His pulse fluttered quickly against the thin skin where it pressed against Sebastian. Kurt could push Sebastian away; he could leave, take Sebastian’s clothes and leave them in a water feature, never to mention this again. He certainly didn’t need to settle for this -- but, he realized, licking his lips and watching how Sebastian’s gaze devoured the move, this wasn’t settling. Kurt wanted to do this. _With_ _Sebastian_.

Would wonders _never_ cease?

Determined, Kurt slid his hand up to the junction of Sebastian’s shoulder and neck, reeling him in for a kiss. He’d thought about how Sebastian’s lips would taste since that time he’d combed Sebastian’s hair; he wanted to kiss that _smirk_ , that _scowl_ from Sebastian’s face, though he couldn’t admit it to himself at the time. The kiss was as electric as Kurt could refuse to imagine, Sebastian’s hands firm as they gripped Kurt’s hips, tongue playing along Kurt’s in a slick slide that _maybe_ left Kurt just the littlest bit weak in the knees.

They pulled apart, Sebastian perhaps resistant to any intimacy that might close off a Disney movie, and Kurt admired the creamy skin of those defined shoulders as Sebastian turned around. “Hang on,” he said as he strolled off. The firm lines of his thighs flexed as he moved, and Kurt blushed, biting his lip.

Sebastian retrieved a tiny bottle of lube from his bag and waved it at Kurt. _Maximus_. Huh. The boy knew his way around a sex website. Kurt didn’t even bother to roll his eyes, though; some things in life were just too predictable.

“Admiring my muscleback iron?” Sebastian asked.

“Your pun doesn’t make sense, and the only thing worse than a pun which falls flat is a pun which falls flat after you’ve _practised_ it on countless other people here.” Kurt smiled, giddy at the normalcy of this.

“How did you know I --” Sebastian stretched one arm, bending it at the elbow, Kurt just a little affected by the flex of the muscles in his back. “There’s a particularly notorious caddy here who often stands around smoking in the rough. Clearly lacking respect. So, while he’s staining his teeth with carcinogens, I often wheel his bag away and educate the players.” He ticked his fingers off. “Challenges. Obstacles. _Overall yardage_.”

“A true humanitarian,” Kurt said. “I always did figure _you_ for a klepto.”

“You don’t want to hear my tips on handling _overall yardage_?” Sebastian huffed. “Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. You’re driving a wedge between us.”

“What makes you think I want _anything_ between us? Except perhaps a city. No, a _continent_!”

“Oh, please. This was a _fore_ gone conclusion,” Sebastian said, back in front of Kurt. He pushed Kurt’s chest with the palm of his hand and Kurt just decided to go, hitting the -- thankfully soft -- green with surprise that for once, his thoughts weren’t just on the thorny issue of removing grass stains from cashmere. He lay on the ground, and considered kicking Sebastian’s legs out to get him down too. He decided to go with a hand around Sebastian’s wrist, tugging him. Sebastian’s warm weight was soon on him, and Kurt could feel how he was hardening. Kurt would have endless ammo against Sebastian calling him unattractive after this; of course the reverse was true as well, and Kurt supposed things might not really change at all.

“I don’t know about foregone, but if this happening, you should get my pants off before they stain.”

Sebastian’s brow went up.

“From the grass!”

“Uh-huh.” Sebastian shook his head, fingers slipping under Kurt’s waistband and impatiently shoving down his pants. Kurt smiled at the evidence that Sebastian was _eager_ for this, and lifted his hips up, helping get his pants and underwear down. When he was stripped from the waist down, Sebastian pulled back for a moment to cast an inquisitive eye down Kurt’s body. Sebastian smirked. “Who knew you were packing all that?”

Kurt preened a bit, but felt the need to add, “I’m not a virgin.”

“It was a rhetorical statement, dumbass.” Sebastian’s hand slid up Kurt’s thigh, pushing his legs apart slightly, then dipped down to cup his balls. Kurt moaned, head tipping back. Part of him couldn’t believe he was half-naked on a golf course getting felt up, but honestly, the grassy expanse at night was practically romantic compared to the dirty club wall. “So how do you want to do this?” Sebastian asked, hand wrapping around Kurt’s cock and giving it a stroke. Kurt gasped, and reluctantly reopened his eyes to look at Sebastian.

“Just fuck me.” Really, the guy shouldn’t need a step-by-step guide, he single-handedly wiped out the campus’ free condom supply. Kurt rocked his hips into Sebastian’s grip on his cock pointedly.

“Face to face?” Sebastian asked, quirking a brow and unfortunately removing his hand, hunkering back on his heels. “All _romantic_ , as I’m sure you like? Should I sing? Pluck some wildflowers?”

“You’re asking if I want to see your face while having sex?” Kurt paused a beat, then rolled over onto his hands and knees. Yep, not changing. And okay, he was maybe _presenting_ himself, to _Sebastian Smythe_ of all people, and maybe that dirty alley blowjob had been a bit less embarrassing.

“Good point, I _do_ want to stay hard,” Sebastian commented, and Kurt heard the cap go off the lube. Kurt snorted.

“Pretty sure I beat you to that one.”

“It’s the little victories that keep you going, eh Hummel?” Sebastian’s gripped Kurt’s thigh, and lube dripped down on Kurt (he made a face) alongside Sebastian’s other hand.

Kurt shivered at the first brush of Sebastian’s fingers, tips rough from lacrosse and whatever other prep school sport he played. The contrast between that and the cool lube made Kurt shiver, and he wiggled his hips, not sure if he wanted to be closer or move away.

“Stay still,” Sebastian muttered, lightly slapping Kurt’s thigh. “It’s lube, not fire ants.”

“Very sexy,” Kurt sneered back, grinding back onto Sebastian’s hand. “Anymore bug jokes to set the mood?”

“My crabs only cleared up a week ago,” Sebastian replied, and Kurt twisted around to gape at him only to see that Sebastian was wearing a shit-eating grin. Kurt huffed. “Now can you let me do this in peace, or am I going to have to gag you?”

Kurt contemplated it, then rolled his eyes at Sebastian and glared down at the grass.

“You are disgusting. I can’t believe I’m in this situation.” Kurt let his head drop onto his folded arms. Yes, definitely more embarrassing than back-alley blowjobs. Jon had more class with a mouthful of cock than Sebastian had with a mouthful of his attempt at wit. “I’m a slut.” Sebastian slapped his thigh again, as his finger twisted just so to push inside. Kurt gasped, spreading his legs a little wider.

“Trust me, young grasshopper, you have a long way to go before you get that title.” Sebastian rubbed his thumb against the curve of Kurt’s ass as he slid his finger deeper, sending fine tremors down Kurt’s spine.

“I thought,” Kurt paused to peek out from his arms, taking in a shaky breath. “That we were going to cut it with the insects.”

“And get with the sex-sex, right?” Sebastian’s thumb pulled at rim of Kurt’s hole, hand twisting, which made Kurt’s whole body jolt and was the only reason he didn’t kick Sebastian away due to that terrible pun. Kurt knew he could do so much better. Well. Maybe not. At least Sebastian hadn't gone for the incest puns this time.

“You,” Kurt rocked his hips back, “suck at --”

“All in due time,” Sebastian said, cheeky. “You have to be _very_ nice to me though.”

“Only if you hurry up,” Kurt said. It was if Sebastian had barely touched him, and yet his whole body felt on fire. He needed more, but it seemed Sebastian did foreplay like he did pre-fore play, taking damned forever to get to the point. “I can take more, you bastard.”

Sebastian chuckled, and pulled his hand away. Kurt was going to complain but then Sebastian was closer than ever, solid weight settling along Kurt’s back. There was a small click like the lube bottle, and then the fingers were back, two now inside, spreading him open. Kurt moaned, smug satisfaction curling in his gut.

“Well,” Sebastian said, his breath warm against the back of Kurt’s neck. “That certainly explains the attitude. You’ve clearly had _far more_ than a stick shoved up your ass.”

“Indeed,” Kurt said, trying to steady his breathing. “Unfortunately, you’re not going to compare to any stick I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, please. I’m hung.”

“I’ve had bigger,” Kurt said, tilting his head up. “My ex was _incredibly_ well-endowed.” He saw the look of jealousy flash across Sebastian’s face. “And also incredibly versatile.”

“Keeping up the spirit of competition, I see.”

“It’s that or I take out a riding crop.” Kurt ground back. “Can’t you do _anything?_ Or are you new to this?”

"To sleeping with boys who make me paranoid I'm on an episode of _To Catch a Predator_?"

“You might want to cut the underage jokes before Chris Hansen _does_ pop up. Though I don’t know, he’s hotter than you at least.”

“You _would_ know,” Sebastian replied. “You’re his favourite bait.”

Kurt lifted his foot up, attempting to kick Sebastian in the shin, but only met empty air. “Enough foreplay, Sebastian,” he gritted out. “Time to tee off.” Sebastian shuffled around, foil tearing, then his knees were nudging Kurt’s shins, and his hand spread Kurt’s ass as his cock pushed up against it.

“And he lines up for the shot,” Sebastian said, voice smooth and professional, and Kurt made a noise of disbelief. He couldn’t believe Sebastian was _continuing_ with the golf puns as he rubbed the blunt tip of his cock against Kurt’s lube-slick hole. “And … fore!” Suddenly he was pushing -- _shoving_ in was more like it -- and Kurt’s face creased up with the shock of it all.

“What was that?!” Kurt shrieked, wincing as Sebastian’s admittedly possibly fairly sized cock started to push him open. “Slow and steady wins the race!”

“Hey, I warned you,” Sebastian retorted, spine bowing and head hovering not far behind Kurt’s. “Fair’s fair.”

“Jackass!” Kurt precariously balanced on one hand for a moment, trying to ignore how it twisted his body and made Sebastian slide in further, and so he could reach back and punch Sebastian in the head. He fell back on both hands, but not before he got the satisfaction of seeing Sebastian’s pain.

“Ouch!” Sebastian said, raising a hand to rub at his head. "What was that for?”

Kurt shrugged, feeling the pull of skin down to where Sebastian was pressed into him. “For your clumsy attempts at achieving a hole in one.”

“And you needed me to teach you.” Sebastian slowly sank deeper. “Seems you’re a little expert already.”

“I told you,” Kurt gasped out. “Not a virgin.”

“Not what I was talking about, but hey, at least you won’t be once I’m through with you.”

“Really?” Kurt bore down on Sebastian’s cock, flushing and panting from the effort, but determined to make a point. To his satisfaction, he heard Sebastian groan. “Are you having sex with me? I didn’t notice. You must not--”

Sebastian cut him off with another snap of his hips, and while it knocked the breath out of Kurt, he was more open, his body yielding more easily this time. With a fluttery moan he continued to push back, hips rocking and thighs burning and trembling with the effort to meet Sebastian’s thrusts in a way that made Sebastian gasp. It took surprisingly little time for them to find a rhythm, considering. When they started moving together it just got better; Kurt could lose himself to the heavy breathing and groans of Sebastian behind him, and the hard, smooth stroke of Sebastian’s cock inside him, filling him in the best of ways, and brushing the spot that made Kurt moan and cry out. One of Sebastian’s hands left his hips to drag down Kurt’s back, tracing the length of his spine through fabric, a long line of heat that led right back to where Kurt was being fucked open.

“You know,” Sebastian said, a little hitch to his breath whenever he pushed back in. “The view’s not that bad from back here.” Kurt sort of wanted to laugh at Sebastian’s roundabout compliment/insult, but he couldn’t seem to gather any air. He nearly moaned out Sebastian’s name, cutting himself off. Sebastian must have heard it though, because he was shifting, fucking Kurt at a slightly different angle, a bit harder, as his hand slid down to Kurt’s shoulder blades. The heat pooling low in Kurt’s gut melted white-hot.

"Oh god," Kurt said, raising his knees up. He raised his arm to his mouth, biting down on the cuff of his sweater, Sebastian trying to push him further down into the grass with a hand against the nape of his neck as he fucked him.

"Very classy." Sebastian, to no surprise of Kurt's, was a talker. "Not at all clichéd. Your dirty talk's as predictable as your period must be."

"Please, Sebastian," Kurt reached back, digging his nails into Sebastian's arm, urging him on. It was only when he twisted he could see the look of concentration on Sebastian’s face. "I'm so close."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Not my responsibility."

"Don't you have a reputation to uphold?"

"Don’t you know being an asshole is my reputation?”

"Fine," Kurt said through a groan. "I'll do it myself. God, Blaine never -"

"Screw Blaine." Sebastian smirked and pulled out, leaving Kurt shivering as cool air hit his ass. He felt played open and wet and _ready_ but fucking Sebastian was of course leaning back and stroking his own cock as he watched Kurt squirm. With an annoyed grunt, Kurt rolled over onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows, staring down Sebastian who was crouching between his legs.

"You don’t get to come if I don’t first,” Kurt snapped, raising a leg to kick Sebastian’s arm with, making Sebastian snicker. He hissed at the movement, but he bit it back to give Sebastian a dirty look. “Get back here.”

“Say pretty please,” Sebastian said, steadying himself with a hand against Kurt’s thigh. His thumb began to trace lazy circles there, and it was almost too much after everything. Kurt’s head rolled back, and he took in a deep breath of the fresh cut grass-scented air, trying to calm his harsh panting.

“Just tap it in, you bastard.” Kurt peered at Sebastian from under lowered lids, aiming for a glare but falling somewhere into ‘desperately horny’ instead. Sebastian was still jerking himself off, watching Kurt with an unreadably intense look, and Kurt licked his lips before smiling smugly. “I know you want to.”

“Sure, why not.” Sebastian’s tone was uncaring, but his breath hitched near the end and his eyes were dark and wide as he shuffled close to Kurt again, grabbing his hips and lifting them up. “Nice and gentle, right?” Sebastian asked as he lined himself up again, Kurt urging him closer by wrapping his legs around Sebastian’s waist. “Wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

At these words Sebastian snapped his hips, shoving himself in _again_ , and Kurt tore up chunks of the golf course as he cried out. “ _Fuck_ ,” Kurt managed to grit out when he had readjusted to the hard length of Sebastian’s cock inside him. “Fuck fuck fuck _you._ You have the finesse of a- _ah!”_ Sebastian began to move, shooting a sharp-toothed smile down at Kurt.

“A- a- what, Kurt? A what?” Sebastian mocked, squeezing Kurt’s hips as he rolled his own, thrusts timed up with Kurt’s attempts to tell Sebastian off. Kurt was mostly past caring though, because _god_ that felt good and all he wanted was to cling to Sebastian’s back, rocking into the push of his cock, moaning. At least he could take satisfaction in the fact that he was getting dirt all over Sebastian. Hopefully he would get bacne.

He could tell Sebastian must be close too, because his otherwise smooth rhythm stumbled as Kurt moaned into his ear, tightening his legs around Sebastian, and almost _feeling_ the way Sebastian’s heart was beating as too-fast as Kurt’s. It was close and hot and sweaty and god most definitely grass-streaked and utterly perfect, Kurt pushing into the sweet burn of Sebastian’s rough treatment of him and knowing he just needed a bit more to tip him over.

“Sebastian,” Kurt gasped, and he didn’t expect Sebastian to do anything, but then his hand was sliding down to jerk at Kurt’s cock, thumb rubbing over the tip.

Kurt could have sworn he came from gratefulness alone, not even mentioning the way Sebastian thrust in deep and stilled for a few seconds, making Kurt feel every inch of him. The climax smashed into Kurt like a tidal wave and Kurt nearly saw white as he cried out; but luckily he didn’t, because instead he got to see Sebastian. He watched Kurt come with almost awed lust-blown eyes, then licked his lips and returned his grip to Kurt’s hips so he could resume his pace. His eyes never left Kurt’s, and Kurt could set aside the slight discomfort of oversensitivity as he washed up against the aftershocks of his orgasm to smirk up at Sebastian.

He wanted to ask, “Like what you see?” but the words wouldn’t come, voice gone and body focused on the final dragging thrusts of Sebastian slightly pushing him into the grass. Maybe Sebastian understood the look (they had gotten some fine insulting looks and meanings down pat in shared lectures) because he glanced away.

“Kurt,” Sebastian moaned finally, pressing in and dropping his head as he pulsed inside Kurt. Kurt’s hands, still pressed against Sebastian’s back, smoothed out and pulled him closer as Sebastian came. Sebastian went easily, his body going from tense to lax as he came down, and Kurt pressed his cheek against the cool grass while Sebastian’s large, overheated body smothered him.

In a nice way, maybe, but Kurt wouldn’t admit to that.

\-----

After a short while, Sebastian recovered, pulling away. Kurt hissed as Sebastian slipped out, then finally let his legs flop down with the rest of him. He felt all wrung-out and trembly, and definitely aching a bit, but it was exhilarating. He took in a deep breath as Sebastian reclined next to him, head propped up on his hand as he watched Kurt. Kurt wondered if this was finally going to get awkward, since Sebastian and cuddly afterglow really didn’t go hand-in-hand, and couldn’t help but be surprised as Sebastian dropped his free hand against Kurt’s chest.

“So,” Sebastian said, tracing his finger along Kurt’s collarbone. “Did I make the cut?”

Kurt allowed himself to shiver just a _little_ before he batted it away with a snort. “Honestly? You were a little under par.”

“Kurt?” Sebastian said, removing a blade of grass from behind his ear. “Under par is actually _good_ in a game of golf.”

“Oh.” Kurt said, wrinkling his nose as Sebastian removed the condom, tied it off, and tossed it perfectly into the golf hole cup with a quiet 'plink'. “Well. Perhaps this calls for another lesson?”

\-----

Over the following few days, Sebastian taught Kurt _several_ lessons, only one of which was on a golf course. Kurt would never admit it to Sebastian -- it was humiliating enough to admit it to _Blaine_ \-- but one of the items on his post-high school bucket list _had_ been to have sexual relations in natural surroundings. Admittedly, a dark golf course on a sticky spring evening and Sebastian Smythe wasn’t entirely comparable with a dewy lilac meadow and the man of his dreams, but the course _had_ been well-kept; he’d only found a few blades of grass while showering later that night. And, sure, Sebastian was no Taylor Lautner -- well, maybe Taylor after a tapeworm if Kurt was feeling generous -- but he wasn’t _un_ attractive.

No, he was most _certainly_ attractive, which was why Kurt Hummel spent most of his time at the golfing tournament avoiding Rachel Berry’s crusade for social justice, and trying not to concuss her and her annoyingly proficient dads with the back of his club. The two senior Berrys duetting acapella on “Daddy’s Little Girl” on the fifth, while Rachel soaked up the attention and twirled her kiddy-sized club with gold stars stuck on the shaft like she was auditioning for some bizarre Jewish cable version of _America’s Got Talent_ was torment enough.

Worse?

“I thought you took lessons?” Burt asked, as yet another one of Kurt’s shots veered wildly into the woods. Kurt made a show of shrugging for another one of the father/child teams' benefit and then pretended to be intently focused on polishing his club. Which, well … Kurt didn’t know how he could explain that every single aspect of the game, including this one, reminded him of all the damn golf puns Sebastian had grunted out while fucking Kurt all over the sixth green.

“My teacher got easily distracted,” Kurt muttered, slipping the club back in their bag. He ran his fingers over the school golf sock, which Sebastian had leant him for luck. The next person up (a congressman with a bad combover) shouted out “FORE!” before connecting with the ball and Kurt twitched, fighting off a blush.

“Kurt?”

“Hm?” He looked back to his dad, who raised his eyebrows pointedly.

“I guess being easily distracted is something you can catch,” Burt said, a smile lurking around the edges of his mouth. Kurt coughed, flushing.

\-----

It was only towards the very end of the back nine when Kurt finally managed to surreptitiously tip his club into Rachel’s shin and have her fathers rush her to the medical tent, wailing about tetanus shots, that Burt decided to disband the foursome. As competitive as they all were, charity was the main goal of the tournament; even though they all struggled to recall what charity it was _for_. Kurt bit his lip, as he slinked off behind Blaine.

“There’s something different about you...” Blaine started.

“Oh, please,” Kurt waved a hand around. “That’s the biggest cliché in the book.”

“You seem distracted, but there’s also a spring in your step I can’t quite place.” Blaine raised a triangle of eyebrow. “Have you ...” Blaine lowered his voice, “have you met someone--”

“Absolutely not!”

“Mmm-hm,” Blaine responded, grinning brightly.

“Fine,” Kurt gritted out, because he knew news spread like wildfire among the Warblers, and woe betide Blaine think he was seeing the boy in his class who wore stirrup pants. “I made a little mistake, just a _tiny_ mistake, and I might have ...” He sighed. “Yes. With my roommate.”

“You slept with _Sebastian?”_ Blaine hissed, eyes wide as he grabbed at Kurt’s arm. Kurt glanced nervously aside, but Mr. Anderson, Burt and Mr. Combover were too absorbed in a discussion about minoxidil or something equally middle-aged to notice.

“Yes,” Kurt said, feeling the back of his neck heat up. He patted Blaine’s hand, trying to gently dissuade him from twisting Kurt’s shirt out of place. “Um. On a golf course, actually. _Not_ this one!” Blaine’s eyes were even wider, if that was possible. “And on his bed. And in my bed. And the showers, which turned out to be a bad plan because our dormmates decided to sit outside the stall and sing ‘I Just Had Sex,’ and I got so flustered that I lost the condom in the drain … uh, sorry. TMI, I know.”

“I don’t know, I like this information,” Blaine breathed, and Kurt pinched the back of his hand. “Ow! Sorry. I mean … Sebastian, really? You, you hate him!”

“Well maybe you don’t need to love someone to, well, you know.” The flush was creeping higher. Blaine gasped, hand flying to his mouth, and Kurt sighed sadly. He probably shouldn’t mention the Alley Blowjob incident. “I can’t believe I said it either. But really, he’s not that bad.”

Blaine stared mutely, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Okay, yes, he’s really that bad. But he’s … attractive.”

“He is,” Blaine agreed, looking off into the middle distance for a moment. “He really is.”

“More attractive that m--” Kurt began teasingly, then froze. Blaine winced. “Wait, how would you know? I haven’t even sent you pictures.”

“Ah, yes you have.” Blaine coughed. “You were drunk. You should check your phone.” Kurt pulled it out, raising an eyebrow at Blaine and then another at the text Sebastian had sent him ( _saw an at-home douching kit and thought of you xoxo_ ). He fired back a quick reply ( _might not want to xo me or you’ll get cooties, little boy_ ) and then started to rifle through pictures sent to Blaine. First robin of spring, flower shop at Valentine’s day, a spot on his thigh that he had never noticed before, new pair of high boots, a butterfly on his coffee cup, Sebastian doing body shots off of a random boy, a squirrel enjoying smashed pumpkin-- Wait. Kurt flipped back to the picture, and frowned. This far from validated Blaine’s story.

“You find blurry shots of the back of heads attractive?” Kurt shot Blaine a disbelieving look, displaying the picture. Blaine shrugged.

“He has nice shoulders. But you sent another one too, must have deleted it.” Blaine coughed. “Well with that out of the way, want to go watch the caddies wash golf carts?” He held out a hand to Kurt, who stared him down for a bit longer before accepting it. He put his phone away; he may not believe Blaine’s story entirely, but what other explanation could there be?

“Sounds _lovely_.”

\----

Kurt was back in his dorm by Monday, and the first thing he did was drop the Ohio State Buckeyes pillow pet on to Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian, who was casually scrolling porn, looked up at Kurt in clear surprise.

“You actually found it,” Sebastian said, picking it up and giving it a squeeze. He gazed fondly into the thing’s eerie, blank eyes. “Where the hell was he?”

“ _He_?”

“Yes. Bucky,” Sebastian said, without a hint of embarrassment, arms folded across his chest. “Which is a lot more dignified than _Katy Beary_.”

Kurt ignored him. “You gave _Bucky_ as a cuddle reward to the first straight boy who let you do a shot off him,” Kurt said. “Since you handle your alcohol about as well as you handle having a soul, I’m not surprised you forgot. He took off with it, but with a little investigative work and some help from a friend, I put it together.” Kurt paused. "Okay. I found him in a box of theater props. I’m sure the stains will wash out."

“And that’s a moral for us all about hard work,” Sebastian drawled. “Is this when the credits roll, Sherlock?”

“No, there’s still my payment,” Kurt said, and leaned over Sebastian (hiding a smile as Sebastian instantly reached up to steady a hand against his hip) and put Facebook into Sebastian’s address bar. “You know what to do.” He leaned back, Sebastian’s hand still on him.

“Can’t I suck your cock instead?” Sebastian asked, tugging at Kurt’s waistband. Kurt swatted at his hand.

“If you insist,” Kurt sighed with long-suffering. “But first, Facebook friend me, you stingy bastard.”

“Pathetic,” Sebastian grunted, and shoved Kurt away. “Do you mind? I want to enjoy my last minutes of privacy.”

“No problem,” Kurt sauntered over to his side of the room, booting up his laptop. By the time he opened his browser Sebastian had already sent the request, and Kurt accepted it with breathless anticipation. It was, as Sebastian said, pathetic but Kurt couldn’t help himself. He liked it when he won.

“So promise me you won’t go into shock, because I don’t know first aid and even if I did I wouldn’t help you,” Sebastian called over to him as Kurt loaded up Sebastian’s page. The first wall post was _My roommate is still an annoying little fuck._

“Someone bring the smelling salts,” Kurt said dryly, replying with _I know how that feels._ Then something caught his eye -- Sebastian’s former school was listed as Dalton Academy. “Wait, you went to Dalton? I did too, for a little while, we must have just missed each other …”

“Small favours,” Sebastian said, and Kurt jumped nearly a foot in the air when he realized Sebastian had come up behind him. Turning to glare at him, Kurt’s eye caught on his corkboard, where the picture of him and Blaine rested. Something clicked into place, and he returned his attention to his laptop, heading straight for Friends. Sure enough, Blaine Anderson was top of the list, his picture of him in at a wet t-shirt contest just as Kurt remembered.

“Surprise, honey!” Sebastian patted Kurt on the head, and Kurt threw an aggravated elbow back and made sweet connection. Sebastian grunted in pain and Kurt pulled his phone out, sending an eloquent _you and Sebastian??!!!_ text to Blaine.

“I can’t believe it! No wonder Blaine knew you were attractive.” Kurt fell back in his chair, tossing his phone on the desk.

“Gossiping about me, were you?” Sebastian sat on the edge of Kurt’s desk. “Tell me, do you two think I’m suuuper dreamy?”

“Unless we’re counting nightmares, _no._ ” Kurt made a face. “I can’t believe Blaine didn’t tell me.”

“Something about me having fucked him, probably,” Sebastian commented airily, and when Kurt gaped up at him Sebastian shot a wolfish grin back. “Oh come on Hummel, Blaine is prime meat and I’m a hungry--”

“Hungry hippo?” Kurt shot back. “I take back my disbelief, no one would want to actually _admit_ to sleeping with you.”

“I assure you, Blaine had a _fantastic_ time.” Sebastian nudged Kurt with his knee. “With a little time away from your clumsy virgin clutches, he really shined.” Kurt gagged.

“My poor sweet Blaine,” Kurt grumbled. “Having to suffer you.”

“Suffer? He got me my pillow pet!” Sebastian indicated said pillow pet, which was tucked under his elbow.

“Of course he did. I don’t know why I didn’t guess it before.” Kurt shot the thing a resentful look. “I should have left it for the theater geeks to snuggle at night.”

“Are you done being a drama queen?” Sebastian asked, taunting Kurt by petting Bucky’s head. “Or do you want some more material to work with? Like how when he was with me, Blaine wasn’t some sort of _considerate_ and _well-endowed_ and _versatile_ prince--”

“Get over it!”

“--But rather a kinky little piece of sex on a stick. My stick. Let me tell you Kurt, he’s absolutely _filthy._ ” Kurt was horrified to see that Sebastian was wearing the same misty water-coloured memories face Blaine had the other day at the club, and shook his head firmly.

“Lies.” Kurt crossed his arms. “Hateful lies. Blaine was ... _is_ a _romantic._ ”

Kurt’s phone buzzed sharply before Sebastian could reply, and Kurt tapped the screen. Blaine’s answering text was an equally eloquent _soooo … threesome?_ Kurt hastily flicked away from the exchange, but Sebastian had definitely seen it if his low chuckle was any indication. Flustered, Kurt tried to fight falling into his own mindlessly staring off moment, because he absolutely refused to picture this in his head. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Well, maybe he could, and would. Just a _little_.

Licking his lips, Kurt glanced up at Sebastian from under his lashes. “About that blowjob.”

“Will you be nice to me?” Sebastian returned with a grin, hand pointedly tapping by Kurt’s phone.

“Hm, let me just look outside.” Kurt snorted and adjusted his bangs. “No. Hell hasn’t frozen over just yet, and the only flying pig I see is the delightfully unhygienic BBQ food truck parked across the street.”

Sebastian just shrugged and Kurt groaned as he felt a warm palm cup him through his pants. “Mmm. Good. You and sweet, romantic Blaine can hold hands and put on your customized Katy Perry playlist and leave the rest to me.”

Kurt gasped -- how did he know about the Katy playlists? -- and lifted his hips into Sebastian’s touch. “Let’s leave that for _Blaine_ to decide,”  he ground out.

“You already drew a diagram, didn’t you?” Sebastian smirked at him.

Kurt hadn’t _yet_ , but he’d certainly been planning one in his head. “Bite me, Timon. You, your little pillow pet, and your deviated septum, too.”

“Hm,” Sebastian said, sliding off the desk, thankfully setting Bucky aside before kneeling in front of Kurt. “Given your lack of experience, you probably _would_ bite it.”

“Not having slept with an entire lacrosse team isn’t the same as lacking experience,” Kurt said, Sebastian rolling his eyes _again_ , and that was it. He unbuttoned his pants and tugging them and his underwear in one sweep, was slightly mortified that his cock bounced directly against Sebastian’s chin. “I’ll show you _all about_ my lack of experience.”

Kurt braced himself, because not only was that possibly the most forward and cheesy thing he’d ever done, but it _didn’t actually make any sense._ The hot breath on his cock made it very difficult to adhere to his usual repose, but if he was honest with himself, college had melted most of his usual repose away.

He expected some sort of a rejoinder, or possibly a glare so icy it would defy the laws of physics and hell actually _would_ freeze over, but for once? The only noise his roommate made was a noisy, nasally -- and if Kurt had to admit it, which given the fact his erection was all but poking Sebastian in the eye he owed him at least this much -- rather fetching laugh.

That was, until Sebastian’s cheeks hollowed around a mouthful of his cock, and he didn’t say much of anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr link](http://boldmistakes.tumblr.com/post/64339850174/hole-in-one-kurt-sebastian)


End file.
